


Borborygmi

by GalaxyThreads



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Avengers Family, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Brunnhilde | Valkyrie (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Dysfunctional Family, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorders, Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Odin (Marvel)'s A+ Parenting, One Shot, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, thor whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 21:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyThreads/pseuds/GalaxyThreads
Summary: After Thanos's war is over and Asgard's survivors have been settled in Norway, Thor and Loki take up a joint crown. Thor, unable to cope with the stress as well as the trauma of Ragnarok slips into deadly habits; and Loki deals with putting his broken mess of a brother back together again.(No slash, no smut) Thor!whump! (One-shot) (Re-posted)





	Borborygmi

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :) Good morning/afternoon/night!
> 
> So, repost! Yay! For those of you unaware, I posted this a few months ago and deleted in when I got overwhelmed before finishing it a few weeks ago.
> 
> Thank you for your interest in this! This story isn't going to be all rainbow butterflies and glitter, but I wanted to make Thor and Loki more...human, I guess. It is going to have a happy ending, though! I don't do down beat ends, for me personally, its so discouraging to reach the end of an emotionally straining book/movie/or other and not be lifted up. :)
> 
> For your information, I have no idea how Thanos dies so I'm mostly guessing. Loki's death I don't know about either or Heimdall. Basically, Infinity War happened, but the aftermath is guesswork. ;)
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing!
> 
> Sorry for any grammar/spelling errors!
> 
> Rated for: Emotionally straining topics, possible violence, and paranoia on my part, no slash, no incest, no smut, or anything else inappropriate. Language is all K.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: Disordered eating, eating disorders (it isn't really anorexia or bulimia), mentions of self harm, depression, past bullying, PTSD, panic attacks & implied/referenced emotional child abuse. I delve into some heavy topics in this story, and I want/ask everyone to be safe. :)
> 
> Final note: I promise to everyone out there struggling that it gets better. Don't lose hope, the sun is breaking through the clouds and ready to pour warmth upon the cold winter. You'll be alright.
> 
> Merry Christmas! =)
> 
> For your information, this story is cross-posted on Fanfiction.net under the pen name of "LodestarJumper"
> 
> Just a personal note, if you could refrain from using cussing/strong language if you comment (no offense to how you speak! Promise! =) It just makes me uncomfortable) I would greatly appreciate that. ;)

When Thor was younger, courting war, and blissfully ignorant, no one bothered to mention to him how  _exhausting_ running a Realm is. In his youth, he  _longed_  for the throne and was prepared to take it at a moments notice without any hesitation or realization of how much effort it takes for it to run properly. Yes, he had lessons that he never paid attention in, yes, his mother  _tried_ to grill into him what it would cost, but he ignored them or didn't pay attention as he ought. Now he wishes he could reject it; he wishes he could neglect his duties and  _run,_ because no matter how much he thought otherwise less than a decade ago,  _he is not prepared for this._

He has no idea what he's doing, how to  _be_ a king, nor why New Asgard hasn't spontaneously burst into flames at the shakiness of his rule; he's supposed to be a king, but he feels little above a prisoner. Trapped under a throne that he didn't want and wasn't prepared for; it is a burden across his shoulders that he doesn't know how to ease.

They are surviving.

Barely.

And that's all that matters.

With aid from the other Avengers (particularly Tony), they've managed to get on their feet and not tumble too far one way or another. Without the support granted to them, Thor honestly has his doubts that New Asgard would still be standing. His people look up to him with awe and grandeur, but Thor cannot even stomach a mirror as of the late.

His reign began with the slaughter of Asgardians, and it didn't stop until barely a thousand seven hundred remained when they escaped with Brunnhilde during the attack from Thanos. Many of Midgard's small  _islands_ have more living than his entire Realm.

They are all that is left, and their survival is thrust into Thor's unwilling hands. He loves his people dearly and would die for them without a moment's hesitation, but he has no idea how to be the proper king they need and deserve.

Or if he even can be.

Someone lets out a loud laugh, and Thor is dragged from his thoughts to the present, his one-eyed stare flicking up towards Sir Utlison whose head is tipped back, the loud sound rearing from his lungs with delight. Whatever it is he found so funny Thor can't recall, but the rest of the members at the table are smiling with an awkward pleasantry to it, a few quietly chuckling. If Thor were to guess, Sir Utlison was the one who made the joke and felt that a proper amount of laughter needed to be given, though Thor has no idea what the joke  _was._

This dinner had not been Thor's idea, he would have strayed as far from it as possible, but Heimdall insisted saying: " _Your people are looking for familiarity, my King, this is common for them—grant your curia regis this, at least."_

 _His_ council.

Not Father's.

Not Asgard's.

_His._

All his life it has never been  _his;_ just a group of older men and women that worked closely with the king that Thor couldn't recall ever being more bored with as a teenager. As he entered adulthood, it didn't change much. His brother's adolescence was often spent in and out of the presence of these nine men and three woman—and it shows.

Thor is an awkward bumbling mess (nothing unusual when it comes to political matters) and Loki flaunts his way around the group as if he has finally been returned home after a long holiday. It is aggravating and Thor would be lying to himself if he didn't admit he's jealous of Loki's ease. Only six of the original  _curia regis_ survived between both Hela's attack and Thanos's following slaughter, and the newly appointed six are of both his own choosing and Loki's.

Heimdall has been on the  _curia regis_ for as long as Thor can remember, and the new Asgardian's are unsteady in their positions, but learning and adapting quickly. One of which is Brunnhilde; this had not been Thor's idea, but Loki's. The Valkyrie has stretched in her position, but lack of skill is not what hinders her, just a desire for less responsibility. Thor didn't want to push her after everything that happened in Ragnarok, but Loki insisted she'd thank them for it later. So far beyond one broken nose and a dislocated jaw (that were, thankfully, not his own, Loki's or anyone too high up on the nobility), Thor has yet to see the thanks.

"—Aye!" Someone agrees to Sir Utlison's comment, loudly, breaking him from his thoughts once more.

What was it that Sir Utlison said?

He wracks his brain, but is as clueless as before.

Thor's gaze flicks helplessly from the fork he's shoving around his plate uselessly to Loki who is sitting on his right, green eyes twinkling and burying a smile behind a glass raised to his lips. Loki doesn't catch his stare, so Thor returns his gaze to the plate. He's done nothing  _but_ swish the food back and forth across the plate during this entire dinner, but the thought of eating it makes him feel wretchedly ill. The weight in his stomach makes him want to vomit, no matter how little or how much lately and he isn't quite sure how to stop it; instead, he's done his best to ignore it.

Hunger pangs are digging into his stomach, but he could care less. He can't focus when all he wants to do is expel anything he's eaten that day.

Besides, the ache helps him think clearer.

Thor bites his tongue and rests the fork on the edge of the plate, reaching for the glass of ale that has never sounded less appealing in his life. He wishes for water, (not for the first time tonight) not the thick intoxication of alcohol. If he could apprehend his brother's attention for more than a fleeting glance, he might ask Loki to switch the ale with water. He knows that Loki has for his own drink, his younger sibling  _despises_ alcohol with a passion. When they were younger, Fandral accidentally got Loki severely drunk and his sibling has never felt the need for a repeat. His words on the matter were: " _My head hurt for hours and I threw up everywhere. Where is the pleasure in this?"._ Loki is skilled with sorcery and switching drinks is something that he probably doesn't even think twice about now.

Thor lifts the glass to his lips, but the stench is suddenly so foul that he can't stand it and he bites back a gag lowering the glass to the table top with a slight grimace. He flicks his gaze to the council members, quietly hoping no one noticed the reaction, but beyond a lingering stare from Heimdall, it appears he has all but vanished from the table.

This is fine.

He doesn't want to talk about politics and other boring adult topics anyway.

Thor quietly drums his fingers on the top of the tabletop, idly playing with the fraying edge of the table cloth. It's one of the originals from Asgard, before Hela's skirmish that he remembers vaguely one of the two council women who are not Brunnhilde proudly proclaiming to them. He thinks it was a grandmother's or perhaps a favorite aunt's, but he's not certain.

"The harvest just isn't coming in the way we need it to," Lord Arkenson states, his voice mournful. Thor forces himself to pay attention, but his mind is gleefully hiding in it's corner of happiness, where there are still rainbows and sunshine, unlike the direction this conversation is about to take.

Do they believe in anything but pessimism?

This is why he was not often engaged with his father's council, their negativity drove him  _insane._

"Well, we are unfamiliar with Midgard's soil," Lady Fysdottir states, tone sharp and brisk. The woman is nothing but brisk and to the point. She worked with Lady Eir in the Healing Halls on Asgard, but switched her work after losing a patient. The redhead has served his father well and loyally for many years and she will have likely have many more years of servitude under his rule.

His messy, ugly, frankly pathetic attempt at mimicking ruling.

Why did he not pay more attention in his lessons? Was hunting  _so_ important that he  _had_ to ignore or skip them entirely? He cared little for his lessons and only took up Groot because his mother insisted that he  _had_ to do something else with his time. At that moment, Thor scoffed and chose literally  _the_ most useless skill he could think of to learn to spite her (though in the war with Thanos, he needed it) and proceeded onwards with that.

Loki knows over two and maybe a half dozens languages as far as he's aware, and last he asked was somewhere close to three hundred years ago. Thor knows about ten total, and six of those are Asgard's native languages which he was learning from the womb. Independent study was not something he often sought out for unless it was art. Now he wishes he knew more.  _Norns,_  he is helpless at this.

"That doesn't mean we should be helpless," Thor's uncle, Vili states pointedly. All of his father's other siblings have passed onto Valhalla, but Vili refuses to "kick the bucket" as Thor has heard the Midgardian's state. He's well into his elderly years, and has little so say that isn't criticism or depressing. "Our people have been farming crops since Midgardian's discovered they have toes."

Hardly. Time passes differently throughout Yggdrasil, but unlike what is commonly believed on Midgard, time passes faster on Earth than it does Asgard. By that point, Asgard was barely learning how to wield magic.

"That is an exaggeration." Heimdall states pointedly from the other side of the table. He hasn't spoken much throughout this dinner, but what he has had to say is to the point and bare sentences.

When did this conversation turn serious? Were they not all laughing three minutes past?

"Please," Uncle Vili scoffs, "they're ruining their air quality with all their bad farming and now that's  _our_ problem. They're all idiots."

No, they're not. Thor holds his tongue. He knows that if he jumps into defense for the humans that Uncle Vili will have his head (verbally, of course, he's  _fairly_ certain that Brunnhilde, who is sitting on his left wouldn't let Vili remove his head, for Loki, on his right, it depends on his mood).

"But the crops!" Lord Arkenson insists, apparently ignoring Uncle Vili completely, a wise choice."If we can't get enough food, how are we going to feed New Asgard? Midgard's produce is expensive and we have no way to pay them."

Thor releases a loud mental groan. This is often something that has been circling around them that Thor frankly has no idea what to do about: Money. Asgard was filled with golden towers, spiraling cities, and swirling magic. Every child was given a trust fund of over what would be equal to fifteen billion on Midgard (something that was almost impossible to spend in their lifetimes as they continuously kept up the income), poverty didn't exist among them. Now they are scrambling for funds, and what they have is little and used sparingly. Many have taken up jobs in the small town in Norway near New Asgard as an attempt to get the money, but since few of them can speak modern Norwegian well, it isn't going smoothly.

Many of the sorcerers were lost in Hela's massacre, or stayed on the ship with Thanos that only he, Loki, Heimdall, and Bruce walked away from. They have little ways to make funds beyond the farming which is going well, but not as plentiful as it was on Asgard. On Asgard, they had an entire planet to work around with. Here, they don't.

"Aye." Sir Borison agrees, lifting a glass of thick mead to his lips, sending a pointed look towards Loki as he adds: "We should pull the sorcerers into the project, see if they can help with it."

Thor flicks his gaze to Loki and catches the slight narrowing of his brother's eyes before it smooths. Loki's fingers move to run through his dark hair for a second, "I'm certain that we could," he agrees, his voice placid, "but as we are already helping, it would be a waste of time for you to inquire."

They are?

Is Loki helping personally? He didn't know this.

He's king, he's supposed to know this. His father would have. He is terrible at this.

Thor presses his lips together firmly and stops picking at the table cloth before he rips the old stitches into nothing but threads. Whoever it was that brought it won't be happy. Not that any of them are particularly  _pleased_ with him at the moment, he knows they are acting civil around him, but see him as barely capable of tying his own shoelaces, let alone running what is left of their Realm.

His stomach twists painfully, reminding him that he hasn't eaten since his pathetic breakfast, and he ignores it.

Lady Fysdottir hums, "I see. Your Majesty, what do you believe the best course of action for this would be?"

Thor freezes, his tongue tangling in the back of his throat in an attempt of suffocation. He has only been brought into conversation twice so far and he quickly backed out of it. He feels so young here, suddenly, like he is but a child sitting amongst a herd of angry beasts thirsting for his blood.

"I—" His tongue catches, and he tries to draw his mind to the question, but it draws blank.

What were they even talking about? Air? Plants? Hair?

His vision is slightly fuzzy and he's quite certain he's going to throw up. A sharp kick at his calf jerks him back into focus and Thor jerks his head in Brunnhilde's direction who is innocently pulling a fork from her mouth like nothing happened. It wasn't from Loki's foot, and if it  _was_  he would have stomped on Thor's toes, not kick him. Loki has been ignoring him for the better part of tonight, and he's not certain what he's done to have risen the ire.

Gardens! They were talking about gardens! "We should continue to work with what seeds we brought from Asgard; perhaps we can sell Asgard's native fruit if we gather enough for profit. Our science is vastly ahead of Midgard's, maybe we can pursue something there?" He suggests. His tone is even and relaxed as though he had thought long and hard about the answer rather than just throwing the first words out that came to mind and hoping he didn't sound like a bumbling fool.

Lady Fysdottir appears pacified and nods turning to talk with Sir Borison, who is seated beside her.

Thor quietly exhales to himself, but feels Loki staring at him.

Thor glances towards his younger brother, but Loki's gaze has already shifted by the time his one eye reaches it.

Another kick to his shin drags his attention back to Brunnhilde, and though this one wasn't as harsh it still aches. He's likely going to be bruised there tomorrow, though he  _is_  grateful for the Valkyrie's kick. He would have likely sat in the awkward silence for much longer if she hadn't interfered.

Brunnhilde's dark brown eyes meet Thor's, and the frown that is tipping on the edges of her lips deepens.

Great. Has he disappointed someone  _else_  now?

What else can go wrong today?

There's scarcely five hours left, surely the universe will have  _some_ mercy on him until then. He doubts he'll sleep, but at least by then he'll be out of his awkward  _curia regis_  dinner he didn't want to join in the first place. The smell of the food is making him sick. Do they need to engage in conversation for the next hour, or can he leave now? Maybe he can feign being ill...no, that wouldn't work. Heimdall would know, and so would Loki. Successfully managing to lie around his little brother is rare and fiercely uncommon; many people don't like how good he is at uncovering the untruths. Heimdall would know because he sees everything and would be well aware if Thor was under the weather.

He wishes he could sleep.

Sleeping would be wonderful, but he can barely manage two hours before he's awakened by night terrors. It is pathetic, and stupid; he is not a child anymore. Thanos may be dead and rotting, but the scars he left still sting when prodded.

With the help of sorcery, New Asgard's cities are not simple tents or one-roomed homes; it is not the golden, towering pillars of Asgard, but it is close enough to be familiar. Both himself and Loki are sharing a small home towards the front of New Asgard's houses and it is honestly a relief to not be living in anything as large as the palace. Beyond a few hissy fits from Loki about Thor's inability to clean up, they have had few issues with the arrangement. Neither suggested it exactly, it just sort of...happened.

Still, throughout the walls in the night that never feel like they hide sound well enough, Thor can sometimes hear Loki cry out and he knows it's vise versa. Only the truly awful nights will find them both on the couch, sitting together quietly as they do their best not to vomit.

Thor has hardly slept since before Ragnarok.

"Highness?" Brunnhilde's voice is quiet, but loud enough to rip him from his thoughts. He flicks his attention back to the woman, slightly embarrassed that his thoughts drifted so rapidly from her. She's obviously trying to get his attention (and though he would prefer it without the kicking) he should at least give it to her.

"Hmm?" He murmurs.

The conversation at the table is still on the matter of gardening, but he's fairly certain that they've switched to the topic of potatoes. Why must they talk about such mundane things? He knows that this is (in the least) boring Loki because his younger brother's eyes are tilted upwards and his expression is the blank mask that he takes when he's listening, but not paying attention. Understand, Loki could still very well quote what was said back to you if asked when in this state, but he's multitasking. Loki despises small talk as much as him; it is something they both share in common. They get it from their mother, because Father was deeply uncomfortable with anything that  _wasn't_ small talk.

"Are you well?" Brunnhilde asks. Thor is thrown by the quiet question and whips his gaze to her, confused. Why would he not be? He's dizzy and bored, but nothing too serious. Brunnhilde apparently realizes this is too close to being sincere or sentimental and promptly adds: "You look like you got ran over by a herd of bilgesnipe, then beat up in the back of an ally."

Really? That's a new look.

"Thank you." Thor says, dryly. He probably should have put a little more effort into smoothing down his wild hair. The spikiness of it is strange and he's not certain he'll ever be a hundred percent used to it after so long with his longer length. He didn't look at a mirror before they left, just asked Loki if he looked fine and Loki's eyes had lingered on his head, but said it was adequate.

Brunnhilde's expression flickers with something he can't place, "You know what I meant." She says, her tone annoyed, "You should go home and sleep."

Yes, he agrees. He would love to sleep, but he must remain at this table until it is mutually decided they've all bored each other enough that they can leave. Thor gestures vaguely towards the table which is still talking dully, ignoring their small conversation, "This isn't over."

Brunnhilde shrugs, a brow lifting. "So?"

Thor's eyebrows raise slightly, "It would be inappropriate and rude to leave now."

" _And?"_

She cannot be serious.

Thor resists the urge to gape openly, his father  _never_ would have left a meeting like this and neither will Thor. Father drilled many lessons over and over in Thor's mind and politeness to his council and willingness to listen was one of them. He can't fail his father, he can't let New Asgard crumple just because he feels a little dizzy and nauseous.

Brunnhilde's expression furrows as she apparently sees something on his face he accidentally left out for her to read. The Warriors Three were often reprimanding him for "wearing his heart on his sleeve", and even Loki has commented on it a few times. He is unaware how to  _stop_ it unless he is to halt feeling at all.

She apparently decides he is incapable of thinking properly for himself, because she turns her piercing stare to the person across from her. "Lacky," she addresses and Thor quietly digs his fingernails into his palms, mentally smashing his forehead into the table and letting it remain there for several days. Dragging Loki into this isn't going to help. He feels  _fine._ He  _is_  fine. This is an important step into his kingship, he can't bail out now.

Loki's eyes draw away from their glazed over perch upwards to the Valkyrie, and Thor resists the urge to bury his head into his hands. He is in a public place with some of the most important officials of Asgard, he can't be childish right now.

Brunnhilde flicks a thumb towards Thor, "I think he's sick."

And doesn't like be spoken about as if he isn't present, thanks.

Loki's gaze lifts to him and his expression twitches with something Thor can't place for a moment. Truly, he cannot look  _that_ terrible. He is not ill; he needs to remain here, he can't fail his father, he has to be a good king.

His stomach twists again, and this time Thor barely holds back a heave.

Everything in this room smells wretched, even if it is supposed to be some of the best dishes New Asgard has discovered. It's thick and sweet with the strong smell of baking bread and meat—something that usually wouldn't bother him. He misses Steve's pancakes, or Tony's (when he bothered to sit down and cook, which wasn't often) muffins, which he found superior to whatever this is. It is unfair to say that, however, as he didn't try it; he couldn't stomach it. The most the food on his plate did was go in endless circles around the rim as he pushed it with the fork.

Loki's cool hand slams against his forehead and Thor is jerked back to the present (why is so hard to stay focused!?) once more. Thor startles at the sudden contact, but thankfully doesn't leap more than an inch in his surprise. Loki's eyes look slightly amused at Thor's jump, but he doesn't comment and his lips curve down with a frown.

Loki flips his hand so his palm is pressing instead of the back of his hand and the frown doesn't lesson. "You have a slight fever, Brother, perhaps we should leave."

He can't!

Father wouldn't have!

"No, Loki," Thor says and gently pulls his brother's hand back, "I'm fine."

Bored, tired, and dizzy, but fine.

He can remain here.

Loki doesn't look as positive and his sudden attention is stifling. For a moment, it looks like he might back down and leave Thor in peace, but his jaw clicks slightly and he shoves up from the his chair to his feet causing Thor's stomach to drop to his toes. Well, there's little working his way out of this one. Loki is determined and stubborn and Thor doesn't have the energy to fight him on this. If all that was written about their family was the singular word "stubbornness", it would be fitting.

The conversation at the table dies abruptly at Loki's movement and Thor tries to hide the flush of embarrassment that rises on his face.

When he glances towards her, Brunnhilde looks smug. Thor resists the urge to return her earlier kicks.

"Prince Loki?" Sir Borison inquires, his tone curious.

Loki turns his head towards them, a light smile gracing his lips, "I apologize, but my brother and I must retreat early. The king is unwell."

This is a stupid reason to be leaving. Father said that unless you're dead or dying there wasn't any reason to take a sick day from the throne. He's neither dead, nor dying, and therefore has no excuse. A part of him wants to remain here stubbornly, just to see what Loki would do. The other part, tired, hungry and nauseous would very much like to follow Loki from the room.

All ten pairs of eyes that aren't Brunnhilde or Loki's land on him and Thor suddenly feels paralyzed. He can feel their silent judgement being cast upon him. Barely two months in and he has already taken ill, how weak he is.

"Oh," Lady Fysdottir breathes, "I was unaware. We could have moved the dinner had we known—"

"Thor himself was unaware until tonight," Loki interrupts. Thor is grateful for the moment that Loki has decided he is mute as well as feverish; he doesn't think he could get proper sentences from his throat. "It is likely nothing more than a passing bother; an ail that sleep will likely fix." Loki takes a step away from the table towards Thor and grasps his upper arm.

His grip is light, but his touch is freezing.

"Perhaps we should send Lady Eir," General Tyr suggests, his voice rough, but that isn't unusual. When Thor was barely two by Midgardian standards, Tyr, his wife and children were in a terrible house fire. Tyr's lungs (although he saved his entire family from the burn) were permanently damaged in the aftermath. Their mother was impressed with the show of bravery and recommended Tyr to his father for the army.

Loki waves his hand, "No, I don't believe that necessary."

"He is the king—" Lord Arkenson begins to protest.

"If it has escaped your mind," Loki's voice is biting, his frustration making an unusual show of slipping into his voice, "I was trained under Lady Eir in the healing arts."

Both of them were, Thor didn't have magic and was helpless at most of what she was showing them, but when it comes to wrapping wounds or stopping bleeding and such, he is not helpless.

"I'm afraid it had, my prince," Lord Arkenson admits.

Loki's smile grows more tight and he all but drags Thor to his feet, forcing him to move towards the exit of the room and building, "If you don't mind, we'll take our leave now," his younger brother states. "Good evening."

A chorus of the greeting sounds at their back before Loki rips the door to the public meeting house open and all but stuffs Thor out like he's some sort of unwilling package he must deliver. When the door is closed and they are left into the cold October air, Loki stands at his side. Thor breathes in the thick smell of pine and autumn. There is the slight smell of a nearby bakery that Thor doesn't know the exact location of, but it isn't as stifling when it isn't confined to four walls.

They are still and quiet for nearly a minute before Loki tips his head in Thor's direction. "You don't have a fever." He announces.

Thor whips his head towards him, incredulous. "You  _lied?"_ At his younger brothers innocent face, he adds in a condescending tone: " _Loki—"_

"It's not as though anything of importance was going on! Unless you'd rather  _hear_ more of Sir Borison's lecture of the history of the potato. Besides, you  _do_ look terrible, so something must be wrong." The words are spoken in a rush, but even with the explanation, Thor cannot stuff the desire to return to the table and finish this because that's what Father would have done.

Thor gapes at him.

Loki sighs, "Honestly, Thor," he rolls his eyes lightly and grasps Thor's elbow beginning to drag him down the steps. The biting air digs into his skin and Thor winces slightly, wishing for not the first time that he had Loki's high tolerance for the temperature. They are polar opposites in this, Thor cannot  _stand_ being cold and is perfectly happy in warm weather no matter the temperature, but Loki is the exact opposite. "One would think I just told you I murdered your puppy."

"I don't have a dog." Thor argues, letting himself (with reluctance) be herded by Loki to their house in the slightly busy square. The public meeting house is the unofficial/official place where the  _curia regis_  gathers since Thor doesn't have a throne room or a meeting hall like Father did.

People they pass wave cheerfully, and offer greetings.

Thor waves in return, but can't get his tongue to work quite right.

As soon as they pass through a large section of the crowd, Loki continues their light banter: "Please, if you  _did_ have a pet, you would kill it before I do."

Thor whacks his arm lightly, offended, "I would  _not."_

When he was younger he always wanted a dog, but Father insisted it wasn't princely and Loki is allergic to a large majority of animal hair. Not most horses or cats, but wave pretty much any other fur under his brother's nose and Loki will be sneezing, crying and left swollen for hours afterwards. Feathers he's fine with, reptiles he has no problem, but fur for some reason is the end for Loki's lungs. He was often teased about it when they were younger; Thor was just angry that the couldn't have a dog because Loki had allergies.

Allergies are not uncommon among Asgardians, they are not perfect as humans seem to insist, they are just more advanced scientifically.

"Are you certain?" Loki questions, sliding between two large Aesir who are heartily stuffing their faces with ale. Thor is dragged after him and the smell of the alcohol burns his nose and makes his stomach lurch. He is grateful that he didn't eat anything beyond that piece of toast at breakfast. How could he have had indulged in such a wild manner like that when he was younger?

Thor forces himself to focus on something beyond the fact that his stomach is churning, "Yes." He grits.

Loki casts a playful look back at him, "You would forget to feed it after a week."

"How do you know?" Thor shoots back.

Loki gives one of his knowing smirks, "You can't even keep  _verdure_ alive, Thor."

Thor sags with defeat. It is true, when he and Loki were adolescents, he became quite obsessed with the idea of growing his own gardens that would one day be better than his mother's. He read as much as he could on gardening at his age then proceeded to try and grow an entire pot of flowers. He cared for them every day, watered them, weeded them, and loved them, but in the end they still died. He tired again and again until he went wailing to his mother about his inability to grow things and she had shushed him then told him that he needed to grow them in something other than wood chips. Soil is key. Thor had given up afterwards, deciding the endeavor hopeless.

As they trek up the small hill leading back towards their house, Thor is grasped with a sudden lack of energy. His muscles are exhausted and his head is pounding. He's dizzy, and the world is spinning too much for it to have been allowed by law.

Cold fingers touch his face and Thor forces himself to focus on Loki who is standing in front of him, green eyes filled with something he can't placed. Concern, maybe? It takes him far longer than he would like to admit to realize that Loki is repeating his name like a mantra.

Thor blinks rapidly, attempting to bring his attention back to the present.

"— _Thor,_ you idiot, answer me,  _Thor_ — _"_

"Yes?" His tone is slightly harsher than he means for it to be, but Loki looks relieved nonetheless.

"Are you injured?" Loki demands, pulling his hands away from his face and resting them on Thor's shoulders. His fingers are cold, but he can feel the slight warm surge of Loki's magic slipping through him and searching almost tenderly for injuries.

He isn't going to find any. Thor is not so careless to be injured as king. He is needed by his people, he does not have time for abrasion.

"No," He reassures his younger sibling.

Loki looks skeptical.

Thor shoves the hands off and brushes past him, silently begging his dizziness to hold another intense wave until he is in the privacy of his own room. He does not know why or understand it, but he lately the world feels as though the world has continuously been rocking on his axis and he is the only person to suffer from it.

Loki appears at his side as he reaches the porch, and Thor shoves his hands into his pants pocket to locate his key, but Loki leans forward and flicks his fingers the lock clicking a second later as it opens. Thor halts his search. Loki has a key, they both do, but Loki refuses to use his. Thor has yet to see a lock Loki cannot pick with his sorcery. Without his sorcery, he is still able, but it takes further time and proper tools.

Loki shoves the door open and Thor stumbles inside first, flicking on the light switch. Loki closes the door behind them. "You should get to bed." Loki states, his voice toneless, "I know you weren't paying attention at the meeting so  _I_ did and I'll write notes of anything important you need to know."

Oh. So Loki wasn't ignoring him then, just trying to pay attention. Why does he still stick with the stupid habit to assume the worst of everything his brother is doing?

Thor looks back at him, "But—"

"No," Loki protests, giving him a light shove in the direction of the halls with the two bedrooms. The house is layout is basic: the front door opens to a living/sitting area, behind that is the kitchen, there's a hallway leading from the kitchen to their two bedrooms both of which are equipped with a bathroom, and the hall leads to a small study/library that mostly Loki uses, an empty room neither has done anything with and a spare bathroom.

There is nothing here to declare them royalty and Thor is admittedly relieved by it.

He hates his status.

Thor forces himself to go to his bedroom, Loki's stare following after him, and closes the door relieved by the sudden lack of stares. Everywhere he goes he can feel he judgement being cast on him, he knows he is not as good of a king as Father was, but does it have to constantly be shoved in his face?

Thor strips off his formal attire, grateful to be rid of it, and slides into a simple T-shirt and sweatpants. He climbs under the covers, burying himself in as many blankets as possible and remains there as dead weight on the mattress.

His stomach gives one last hopeful twist of pain in an attempt to be fed, but Thor doesn't give it heed. He is too tired and food makes him nauseous. He needs to be able to focus, so he can be a good king. He can't fail his father, or his people and food will just get in the way of that.

Thor squeezes his eye shut and forces his muscles to relax, he is almost immediately asleep.

000o000

_"The Tesseract or your brother's head, I assume you have a preference?"_

_Blood is dribbling down his lip, his throat is filled with his saliva and he can't swallow right. He feels like he's dying and everything hurts. Thanos's fingers are digging into his scalp painfully, pressing in a way that he hasn't felt before, it makes his headache worse._

_Loki is standing impassive not twenty feet away, but Thor can't move to reach him._

_"Oh, I do," His brother's voice is confidant, almost gleaming with assurance, "kill away—"_

— _Loki's lifeless corpse is thrown in front of him and his body rocks with the throw, but there is no life to it. Thanos has just killed his brother, Thanos just killed his brother. Thor has seen him cheat death before, but this—this is different._

"No more resurrections this time."

This is real.

 _The Power Stone's energy is flooding around them and Thor scrambles to rip the metal off of him to crawl over to Loki's body, but he can't get the metal off, what is wrong? He is trapped here, but he knows he should be able_   _to_ move  _it._

_Loki sits up suddenly, and looks at him but his face is still dead and bleeding, "You should have saved me." He murmurs, more blood dribbling down his lip, "Failure. You cannot even protect your own family."_

_What…_

_"Failure," Loki whispers, "failure, failure, failure, failure! Why do you wear a crown when you lead us to our deaths!?"_

_The gag still covers his mouth he can say nothing._

_Loki is right, as he usually is. It is his fault that Malekith attacked Asgard, his fault Hela was released—_

"Thor!"

_This voice is different, and crying out as though panicked._

"Thor!"

_Why?_

_Loki snears at him, dead eyes lifting, "That crown belongs on your head as much as it does mine_. Not at all."

"Brother!"

_A sharp pinprick of cold rips at his conscious and suddenly Thor is tumbling._

"You idiot! Come on, you oaf!"

Thor's eyelid rips open, and he jerks upwards into a sitting position, nearly colliding foreheads with Loki who leaps backwards with ease. His breath is escaping him wildly and his muscles feel to weak to hold his weight or anything. He can taste electricity in the air thickly, and almost smell it.

He's twitching slightly—no, wait, his hands are shaking.

_Failure._

_You cannot even protect your own family._

Loki hadn't died in this nightmare, but he does not know if that is better.

_Failure._

A bony hand touches his arm and Thor twitches at it, whipping his gaze up in surprise to the person, and sees Loki's green eyes staring back at him. Loki is a few feet away dressed in his loose pajamas (a black T-shirt Natasha gave him reading in white: " _I Survived the_  Second  _Alien Attack on New York and All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt"_ that Loki had found humorous and a pair of light gray sweatpants) his hair tugged back into a loose ponytail that his shorter layers hang from. Loki's pale hand is outstretched towards him, resting on his upper arm and Thor can see the scars lightly dancing across his younger siblings forearm in the pale lighting.

Loki's lips are pressed together tightly and Thor knows that he's done something to upset him. Loki only gets that look when he realizes he's above yelling (even though he wants to) or he's concerned. Did Thor wake him? Loki has always been a light sleeper, but after living with him again after Thanos, Thor didn't realize how much worse it'd gotten. He shifts blankets loud enough and Loki will twitch into wakefulness from the other room.

He probably wasn't being quiet.

"I apologize." Thor murmurs, his voice is thick with sleep and he attempts to squirm out of Loki's grip, but the thin fingers refuse to let go of him.

"For?" Loki queries, his head tilting as he watches him. Thor hates this look. Hates it when Loki has decided that he's some sort of puzzle that needs solving and won't stop until he's answered it.

"Waking you." Thor answers, he doesn't need Loki to say so to know it happened, "It was unintentional."

But not, admittedly, unwanted.

Loki hums quietly and releases Thor's arm at last, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and watching him. "I didn't realize you still dreamt over the war."

There is no need to clarify  _which;_ both of them have served in dozens, but this one sticks out like a sore thumb. In all their catastrophes and petty quests, the fate of the universe did not tangle between a thumb and third finger. They were not prepared for the strain this would put on them. On all of them.

The first week after it was over Loki refused to put anything near his neck; not his hair, jackets, shirts,  _nothing_ , and awakened with small cries. Thor had not fared much better, but the two of them found solace in each others restlessness.

Loki has, however, not had a nightmare in at least two weeks (that Thor knows of) and Thor has continued his at least twice a week restlessness in silence, afraid to move lest he wake the younger. It's stupid, he  _knows_ Loki will offer him company (if grudgingly and kvetch the whole time) if Thor were to ask for it, but Loki hardly sleeps as it is. It doesn't matter if he's tired for the rest of the day and occasionally falls asleep where he shouldn't; Loki's welfare is more important than his own.

Thor swallows, but the spit feels dry as it runs down his throat.

"It...is not often."

Loki's eyebrow lifts, "But often enough." He contradicts, "You have been more tired of late, brother." He points out.

Thor has nothing to say.

Nothing he  _can._

If he were to start, he fears that he would not be able to  _stop_ and the words of his insecurities over being king and his failures and the fact that he's slipping would pour out without filtering and he doesn't want that. Perhaps later. Not now.

Loki sighs, "You're awfully talkative tonight," he murmurs under his breath sarcastically, "If there is nothing else, I'll retire—" Loki makes a move to stand up, but horror wraps around Thor's throat and all he can see is Loki slowly lifted off his feet from Thanos's crushing grip, or the sword in Svatheriheim smashing into his brother's lungs.

His hand jerks forward before he can stop it, wrapping around Loki's thin wrist, "Wait." He pleads.

Loki looks back at him patiently for a moment, something irritated in his expression before is softens and he sighs. "Move." He commands, pulling his arm from Thor's grip and climbs on the mattress beside him. Thor obediently shoves over, giving the trickster room and Loki steals one of the pillows placing it down before thwauking his head upon it, gaze turned towards Thor.

Thor tries to ignore the fact that the last time they did this was centuries ago, after the incident with the dwarves from Alfheim and Loki's lips getting sewn shut. Thor remains on his back, attempting to relax his tense muscles, but it doesn't work.

He's as restless as he is exhausted.

Sighing slightly, he closes his eyelid and is immediately grasped by the images of war against Thanos and he rips it open again, breath escaping raggedly. He turns his head, "Loki," He whispers.

"Mmm?" His brother questions without opening his eyes, he's likely as tired as Thor is.

Thor bites his tongue, but rolls onto his side so he's facing Loki. "Just wanted to see if you were awake." He lies.

_Just wanted to see that you were alive._

Loki nods tiredly, "Not dead yet," he assures his voice slurring with sleep, "go to sleep, Thor."

He tries.

But when the first light of the sun peeks through the window, he has slept naught.

000o000

"Brother, are you listening?" Thor jerks at the voice, pulling his head up from where it's leaning against his hand to look up at Loki, lurching back into focus. His brother's green eyes are narrowed with something close to annoyance and Thor bites at his lip, sitting up straighter.

No, he wasn't.

Impolite  _and_ rude.

It's too hard to fight the murkiness—he's exhausted. And, admittedly if he's being honest with himself, listening to Loki speak was calming and lulled his mind into a sense false of security, ergo: sleep. Which is stupid, because he doesn't have  _time_ for sleep; he and Loki are supposed to be running a country now that it's morning, not falling asleep on the table.

Thor flicks his gaze up.

Loki is standing on the other side of the table, a cup of tea in one hand and some sort of word document in another. It looks important and Thor's fairly certain it's in a language he can't read. The All-Speak only helps with understanding and speaking, not reading. He and Loki only know English because it's (was) the common tongue among Asgard's cities.

He thinks it might be Norwegian, but he's not certain. The only languages he can really pinpoint well is Russian, Spanish, French, and Hindi because (respectively) Natasha, Tony and Bruce spoke them. Tony and Natasha were showing him how to read their languages before Ultron happened and after that they hardly spoke to each other save a few sparse messages back and forth for two years. Just another thing he lost in the last decade.

His search for the Infinity Stones stole his attention and didn't realize how much it  _took_ from him in the process until he was captured by Surtur and rambling madly to himself.

The paper looks important. Thor vaguely recalls it being on the counter yesterday, but it honestly could have been almost anything. Loki believes in cleanliness, but the countertop just gathers the mass of their combined paperwork without any effort on their part. It's ridiculous. What is it about clean surfaces that seems to request the security blanket of junk?

Thor blinks several times to clear his fuzzing vision and rubs at his eyes a second later with his left hand's fingers. "No." He admits. It's easier to just admit it now and have his sibling backtrack, explaining from the beginning than have Loki launch into a long detailed explanation that he'll only understand a few words of, but not a context or purpose. It's only happened once since New Asgard was settled, but on Asgard it was more than Thor honestly cares to admit.

Loki sighs.

Thor's stomach churns uncomfortably.

When did he zone out? He needs to  _focus._ He can't do this anymore—even with how exhausted he gets.

"Honestly Thor," Loki murmurs with a quick flick of his eyes towards the ceiling in annoyance. He sets his extensively scented tea on the table before pulling out the chair next to him and sitting on it. The table can seat four, but Brunnhilde will often show up unexpectedly to join them for meals so Loki and Thor often leave one side empty to accommodate for it by habit.

Loki sets the paper down on the tabletop and shoves it towards him to look at.

Thor stares at the words for a long moment, but everything is fuzzy and it keeps blurring together or changing shapes. Is that a "v" or a "y"? Possibly a "K"? It is, however, decidedly  _not_ English. Neither is it Aardent or any of Asgard's other languages. Thor lifts his gaze from the paper to Loki's patient stare and shrugs helplessly. He shoves it back towards Loki, too tired to attempt at translating or understanding it, but embarrassed more than he cares to admit that he can't focus enough to do it. "Just summarize." He requests.

Loki frowns and quickly flicks his gaze over the paper, though Thor's certain that he's read it a dozen times by now. Loki is aware that he doesn't have to memorize something before he can understand it, right? Loki lifts the steaming cup of tea to his lips and sips at it as he flips the document, reading the back of the page. It's a single document, which means it's likely a request for aid from a citizen, not something outside of New Asgard.

Loki's drink smells disgusting. Thor hasn't ever really noticed the smell of it before, but for some reason today it's completely fetid. Maybe it's because he hasn't eaten since yesterday and his stomach is a gaping hole of pain and Thor is ignoring it to the point he's nauseous. It doesn't make sense. How can he be  _nauseous_ from being  _hungry?_

Loki points towards a line of the second paragraph beginning with some sort of weird contraction. "It's a petition from a few of the citizens requesting funding and permission to start working on a device to capture Midgard's sun's heat to help build phosphorescent device to sell to the Midgardian's for profit."

Oh.

Sounds useful.

Why?

"For what purpose?" Thor questions, leaning back against the chair and rubbing at his exhausted eyes again. The lids are probably red from the constant scrubbing, but though Thor's body is tired, his mind is far from it. He doesn't want to spend another few hours watching Loki breathe as he attempts to stop himself from succumbing to a panic attack.

He's not  _supposed_ to be anything but calm.

A calm king is a wise one.

His father rarely lost his temper in public so Thor shouldn't be anything different.

Loki flips the page back to the front and the sound drags him back to the present. Loki points to the last paragraph of the document and runs his other hand through his hair to pull the loose strands back then points at the last paragraph of the document, "They said the Midgardian's could use it to speed up the process of photosynthesis."

 _Ah._ This doesn't sound like a bad idea or plan. So  _why_  is Loki's tone so skeptical and unimpressed? Thor's academic achievements were never in science, so he trusts his brother to know more on this subject than him. Art and history he had no problems with, but Loki was the mathematical scientific genius between the two of them. He  _had_  to be for sorcery, understanding between the two is linked. It's one of the reasons beyond being inborn that Loki exells so easily at the art.

On Asgard, people who brought forth suggestions like this to their father were required to list the process of  _how_ they would go about it. It is no different here, Thor can see a formula scribbled out that he can't make sense of, but he's guessing it's the plan for harnessing Midgard's sun's light.

"But...?" Thor presses.

"Their sun." Loki deadpans, then flicks his hands out in annoyance. " _Why_ does no one ever take into account the  _heat_ of a blistering star? They simply believe they can  _jar_ it like the cold brown dwarfs near Asgard. It's ridiculous. The most they're going to do is set something on fire—possibly the entire city, if we're  _lucky._  Don't approve it."

Loki shoves the paper away and takes another sip of his tea grimacing slightly when he pulls it away from his mouth. Thor watches with as much detachment as he can manage, but he still clenches his fist. At least it  _tastes_ as terrible as it smells. Loki is usually a person who will consume any tea placed before him without blinking, but this obviously wasn't his best brew.

Loki notices him staring and waves a hand slightly, setting the glass onto the table, "We're out of caramel." He explains. Yes, that makes sense. Their father was obsessed with caramel and it was one of the few interests where Loki and their father ever co-ensided.

Loki rises to his bare feet and walks towards the counter before glancing back at him. "I'm going to make breakfast. Would you like anything?"

Thor stills at the question, biting at his tongue to keep back his imminent response of yes. He's never been a skilled liar or really capable of it at all (Loki said that the guilt in his face often gives it away), so he's not entirely sure what to do. After another moment of mental spinning with confusion, he shakes his head slightly.

Loki looks puzzled, his eyebrows drawing together and he sweeps his gaze across Thor.

Thor attempts, and fails, to keep from shrinking at it.

How does Loki manage to  _see_ so much from a single look?

"Are you hungry?"

_Yes._

"No. Was there anything else that needed to be looked over?"

_Please just change, let this pass._

He and Loki have been at this for about an hour now, ever since Loki woke up in a panic and dragged them both into the kitchen to get work done. Loki works best like that, ignoring his problems with distractions; Thor wishes he would just  _talk_ about them, but he doesn't. He bottles it up until it explodes violently. Thor was too tired to really fight him and was dragged into the kitchen and shoved onto a chair as Loki paced across the room thinking and going over the documents they've been putting off for more time than what is probably wise.

They've been busy putting a Realm together, the papers are a second priority compared to that.

Speaking of which, what  _time_ is it? Thor glances towards the windows where the light is filtering in; he is completely aware of Midgard's clocks, but he was raised to read sunlight to find time and it stuck. Roughly halfway through seven. Neither he or Loki bother with making a public appearance until after nine so they still have about a hour and a half to go until they need to leave. Neither one of them has even changed out of pajamas yet.

Loki side glances him for a second, but shakes his head: "Nothing that can't wait. You look dead on your feet, do you want coffee?"

Thor grimaces slightly.

No, he does not.

Loki doesn't look back at him and flicks the coffee machine on. Well, apparently he  _does_ want coffee. Why did Loki even bother asking? The machine was a housewarming gift from Tony and apparently supposed to "be simple enough for your lack of understanding of a waffle iron". Thor had laughed because both of them are completely aware that he's perfectly capable of functioning their inane devices.

Thor leans his head forward and rests it against the cold wood of the table. The chill eases his headache and does wonders for his lack of focus. He squeezes his eyes shut and exhales with content, not planning on moving for as long as he is physically capable of. There was still an hour and a half before he and Loki are expected to leave, maybe he can steal an hour of sleep—and slack off?  _Ridiculous._ He has things he can get done instead of sleeping.

He's king.

He's expected to be a symbol of strength for his people.

This is not strength, it is laziness.

Still, though, he can't get his muscles to move.

He hears Loki moving around the kitchen preparing something, but his mind is too foggy to really process anything more than that. He is perfectly content leaning against this tabletop, still and the only task he is required to do being breathe.

"Thor." Loki calls somewhere close to two minutes later. Thor drags his head up from the table and pulls his eye open to squint at his brother. Loki slides a mug across the table towards him and Thor catches by instinct rather than thought. The liquid is covered in thick cream Thor isn't certain where Loki got it from. He's too tired to care at the moment.

Thor takes the drink and stares at it for a long second. His stomach twists painfully in hope and Thor finally submits. It's growing to the point of agony from his enhanced metabolism on Midgard and he has his doubts he will be able to push much longer without actually consuming substance.

Disgusting.

Thor takes a long swallow of the drink and relief cascades through his aching limbs at it. It's warm, tasteful, and has a sort of numbing relief as it slides down his throat. He hates that he takes pleasure in this. He could be doing so many other things right now instead of eating and—Thor pulls the drink away from his lips and rests it on the table.

It's settling in the empty hollow of his stomach and he loathes the feeling.

He needs to focus.

This is getting in the way.

He can feel Loki's eyes on him, but he ignores it. If Loki wants to get his attention he can just talk. He's more than capable.

"Thor," Loki calls and Thor looks up at him sharply, but his gaze flickers to the food Loki has settled on the counter, almost by accident. It's a bagel covered in fruit. Loki hates any fruit that isn't grapes and pineapple. Why is he eating strawberries? "I left a folder on the couch, will you go grab it?"

Folder.

Couch.

That is behind him.

That means moving.

Thor shoves to his feet and squeezes his fists closed to focus on the task rather than flopping forward and sleeping from a sudden wave of furthered exhaustion. He was tired before, but on his feet it suddenly seems so much worse.

Loki says something, but Thor doesn't understand a word of it as he moves forward.

Tired. He's very tired.

Thor staggers towards the living room adjoined to the kitchen and doesn't spot a folder on the couch.

What?

Loki said it would be here and he wanted...and...tired...sleep…

_Sleeeeeeeeep._

Folder.

_Sleeeep._

Why is he so...he wasn't before...

Thor's eyes flicker open and closed several times and he moves closer to the piece of furniture. He's just not close enough, he can't see it yet, obviously. Thor barely makes it two more steps before his legs give and he collapses in the direction of the couch, asleep before he hits it.

000o000

In complete and utter honesty, their respect is simply a facade placed before him to appease. It's disgusting and reminds him repeatedly  _why_  he hid under his father's guise. Asgard would have  _laughed_ at him if he had lifted the illusion—and why wouldn't they have? He was never really any more than an amusement for the upper classes. A jester. Merely entertainment. Society's view on him has been ever stagnant and he hates it. They belittled him behind his back, but now they have the audacity to stand in front of him as if they stood before Odin himself. With respect they do not feel past their voices.

Liars, the lot of them, but at least they are in good company.

Ragnarok did little else than frighten them, it didn't change hundreds of years of thinking in a moment. He is their rescuer, but not a friend. His silvertongue has done nothing but bury him since New Asgard took root.

"Would you not agree, Prince Loki?" A sharp male voice demands, drawing Loki from his thoughts. He forces himself to stay present and draws his gaze to the Aesir. Alvar Vinrson's eyes are narrowed with frustration and his large arms are crossed. His fiery red hair is tugged back into a tight ponytail, but his long beard roams free. He has a few inches on Loki and with his large stature, Loki is admittedly dwarfed. He's never been very broad in his lifetime, the most he can claim such subject is when he was briefly taller than Thor in their youth.

"Yes, of course." Loki lies smoothly and forces himself to focus again. He has no idea what he just agreed to—he'd admittedly started to filter out what he was speaking and retreating to the back of his mind to find escape from the monotony. Noting this, his companion snorts under her breath subtly.

Alvar had come to him with a small dispute problem a few minutes ago that Loki has been hearing his rant over. His daughter accidentally broke a large hole in their neighbor's house with uncontained magic and Alvar had promptly launched onto a soap aupra about how they can't pay for it, but the neighbor isn't leaving them alone and Alvar, being from the former upper class of Asgard, has no idea how to repair a roof.  _Why_ the man hasn't elected to ask a wielder of seidr for assistance is beyond him. Something about pride, he's guessing.

Alvar looks doubtful at Loki's statement.

Loki releases an infinitesimal sigh and glances at Brunnhilde who is standing next to him. Her expression is equally entertained, if not more, but she's less obvious about it. Brunnhilde, Loki has decided, has a master poker face. He knows that she is bored beyond measure, but beyond a slight tightening of the skin next to her eyes, it's impossible to see.

He returns his gaze to the redhead. "What is it exactly that you want me to do?" Loki inquires.

Alvar looks flustered, as if the answer is stark and  _he_ is an idiot for knowing. "Make Fenar stop bothering my family! It was an accident!" Alvar exclaims. "He should just fix the stupid thing himself!"

Ah, but that would be to easy, wouldn't it?

"You  _did_ break it." Loki points out.

Alvar's expression twists to enraged, "It was  _not_ on purpose! He keeps saying that it was, but it wasn't."  _There_ would be the reason none of the sorcerers have been contacted, it  _is,_ unsurprisingly, a matter of pride. Alvar refuses to admit that it  _was_ unintentionally his daughter's fault and sought a sorcerer to fix the issue. Fenar refuses to because he wants Alvar to admit he was wrong first. Would it wound Alvar so terribly to admit he is at fault?

"Yes." Loki agrees, resisting the urge to rub his temples in an effort to quell his building headache. When Loki was in his youth, his father often allowed these small disputes to be solved by a spar. Loki encouraged otherwise in his brief rule and he supposes somewhere he's pleased it stuck. Rather than simply declare a battle of honor, Alvar sought him out first. Right now, however, he'd like to whack his head against the nearest hard surface.

"Just—talk to Fenar, tell him to stop or their will be consequences." Alvar's voice has a darker edge to it. Joy. More battle.

Loki frowns and shifts slightly. "I really don't think—" He starts.

"I didn't ask for your advice," Alvar cuts and Loki catches his tongue between his teeth. "I just want you to make it stop. You ought to be able to knock some sense into him—and if you can't, can't you just trick him into agreeing anyway?"

"Well yes, but—"

"Great. It's settled." Alvar says cheerily and grabs his shoulders in a gesture that is likely meant to be friendly, but rather feels like Alvar is attempting to rip his arms from their sockets. Loki tenses painfully taut under the hold, but Alvar either doesn't notice or doesn't care, "Thank you, my prince," he tilts his head in Brunnhilde's direction and gives a respectful nod, "Valkyrie."

With that stated, Alvar releases him and turns walking off to join the wandering crowd around them.

Loki bites back irritation and rolls his shoulders to loosen them. It doesn't help. Brunnhilde snorts quietly beside him, "He's nice." Her tone is dry and thick with sarcasm.

Loki nods with equal sarcasm, eyes narrowing. Bigoted and annoying would have been his word choice, but Brunnhilde isn't wrong. Loki glances at the woman beside him again, "You were strangely quiet." he notes.

She shrugs, a shiver running down her spine despite how she tries to hide it. "It's cold."

It is?

Loki is still capable of feeling the chill even with his heritage, but anything that isn't well below freezing he hardly notices. He, unlike his companion, is wearing long sleeves as well. Brunnhilde hates long sleeves almost as much as she does capes, which is an admirable dislike.

Her lips are pursed together and her face is slightly red and her arms are wrapped around her middle to preserve warmth. She catches him staring and scowls.

"I hate winter." Brunnhilde grumbles, her hands lifting to rub against the bare skin of her arms. The chill, Loki personally doesn't find bitter; just mildly annoying. It is not even November yet and (if he remembers correctly), Midgard's winter solstice isn't until December. She's going to be thrilled when it does hit.

"It's autumn." Loki corrects halfheartedly and Brunnhilde shoots him a glare. He averts his gaze from hers, flicking it across the open space both of them are currently lingering in. It isn't the most enormous open area in New Asgard, but the large circular space between shops isn't exactly small either. On Asgard, the shops were scattered randomly throughout the capital and then there were popular well known in other cities or small towns. It was a mess. Thor's Curia Regis re-thought out the way they wanted the city laid out as the Midgardian and Asgard's magicians were building it, and this was one of the major changes.

He hasn't heard any great complaints about the change, so he's assuming that the Asgardian's are taking it well. He is. He finds it more efficient than the disordered mess that Asgard ran with. He has no idea whose idea it was to set up the stores everywhere and nowhere, but he's fairly certain they must have been intoxicated when they did so.

"It's still cold anyway." Brunnhilde states, dragging Loki from his wandering thoughts to the woman. Her teeth are latched together and she pouts her lips with irritation. Yes, she's definitely cold.

Loki hesitates for a second, but shifts his hands up and unclasps the cloak from around his shoulders and wordlessly offers it towards her. Brunnhilde hates cloaks, capes, and anything that "swings around my back, it's distracting and gets in the way", but also refuses to wear long sleeves. Loki doesn't think he's ever  _seen_ her in something that isn't short sleeved in all the time he's known her. She'll comply with the capes if she's dying or discomforted to extremes, but otherwise it's nigh impossible to find her with one.

Brunnhilde sighs with defeat before she takes the fabric from him and swings it around her shoulders, clasping it together and grabs the edges tugging it around her bare arms. Loki quietly gnaws on his tongue with relief that she accepted it.

She still looks miserable.

He and Brunnhilde are slowly working their way through the Asgardian's assisting with problems where they can and helping keep the peace. He and Thor's father never had a need to wander among his citizens, the palace was their place of gathering; but New Asgard doesn't have one. Both he and Thor objected to the idea when it was presented to them (the most privileged they are from their citizens is faster Wi-Fi), hence: the wandering.

It isn't anything he wasn't doing before the mess of Thor's coronation, so he isn't uncomfortable with it, but Brunnhilde is obviously uneasy. She hardly interacted with anyone for a thousand plus years, the sudden fawning of everyone over her stresses her. Thor remarked to her once that she isn't required to join them (and she doesn't always), but Brunnhilde is stubborn.

Loki has already dealt with two disputes and a handful of smaller incidents. It hasn't been anything of great note, but Loki is thoroughly done with this at the moment. It isn't quite thirteen hundred hours yet, but he's been working at this for about five hours since he left Thor at the house and Brunnhilde joined him at about eleven.

At the moment, the two of them are sitting on the edge of the large fire pit in the center of the plaza. It's cold now, but is often lit in the night for community purposes. The sun barely skims over them during the day and quickly sets in the night, leaving plenty of time for freezing to death and stargazing, which isn't something he minds.

Loki has started a star map of the similarities between Asgard and Midgard's stars, it's slow progress between assisting Thor, but it  _is_ getting somewhere.

Brunnhilde shifts, pulling her legs up in a butterfly position, draping the cloak over the edge of her boots and rests her head on her fists, hidden behind the cloak. Loki is admittedly surprised by how cold she is; although it's October, the sun is still bleeding heat into his head and making his hair stick uncomfortably against his neck. He is fine, but Brunnhilde looks as though she has been asked to trek Jotunheim barefoot.

Loki flicks his gaze up staring at the Asgardian's moving through the plaza around them. There's about four or five dozen if he were to guess and a few gathered groups of talking women. They look at peace, content and happy. Thor has taken his role as king seriously and it shows; Loki is continually impressed with how well he manages to run Asgard. His four-year stunt between the Infinity Stones and the Avengers helped his leadership abilities immensely. He isn't the arrogant idiot that led them into Jotunheim that day.

A shadow sweeps over the ground and Loki flicks his gaze up towards the sky to see the sun disappear behind a thick overcast of clouds. Brunnhilde curses and shivers violently. "I am going to freeze to death." She declares.

Loki sighs, "You'll be fine."

"Nope."

"You're positive?"

"Quite."

"Well then," Loki's eyebrows lift and he turns to her, "is there a type of flower you would like me to leave on your ship?"

Brunnhilde grimaces, "Flower? Lacky, just burn me. Don't make the plant life suffer, too."

Loki raises an amused eyebrow, "How thoughtful."

Brunnhilde smirks, but doesn't offer a come back.

Loki flicks his gaze across the roaming Asgardians and releases a slight sigh. "I suppose we should find Fenar." He submits. He doesn't  _want_ to talk to Fenar about Alvar's daughter, but he  _has_  to. Honestly, between Alvar's attitude and his assumption that Loki was a magical wand he can wave, he's got half the mind to encourage Fenar onwards. Thor wouldn't approve and give him the  _look,_ though. Besides, one conversation isn't going to kill him. It's better than simply letting the two fight to the death, though, yes?

Brunnhilde looks just as thrilled, "Probably."

Such jubilance.

Loki forces himself to his feet and by habit ingrained into him by his mother offers a hand to Brunnhilde. She doesn't take it and Loki awkwardly flexes his fingers in before shifting his hand against his side. The two of them share a glance before Loki mentally braces himself and shoves into the thicker part of the crowd.

People immediately stop to greet him and attempt to start conversation. Loki evades it with ease, eyes sweeping for Fenar. He's not entirely certain what the Aesir looks like, but he does know that he  _is_ blond. Beyond that, however, the features of the Aesir are lost to him.

Brunnhilde and he work through the crowd for a few minutes, but no one jumps out as the Asgardian in question, which means they're going to have to ask someone. Swell. Loki bites his tongue and forces himself to outwardly relax as he turns to the Asgardians. The first three he has have no idea who Fenar are and Loki finally gives up, turning to the young woman on his left. "Pardon me, Madam," he addresses and she turns, surprise on her face, "I'm looking for a man by the name of Fenar Rendanson, have you seen him?"

She seems lost for words for a moment before re-grasping control of her tongue. "I haven't seen him today, my prince." She admits, Loki quietly thanks all that is good in this world that she  _does_ know who he's talking about. "Last I heard, he was at the school—He volunteers to help watch the children, my sister is there."

Truly?

Loki knows all of the teachers, he and Thor were involved a great deal in the educational systems. On Asgard, before Thor's coronation, Loki used to teach sedir to some of the older students. He wasn't aware Fenar was helping.

"If I may speak so boldly, but might I inquire as to your purpose of seeking him?" The woman asks, her expression curious.

"It's just a small question, nothing more." Brunnhilde assures, popping up beside him suddenly and giving her a reassuring smile, Loki mimics it. A question, yes, and then perhaps a recommendation to move.

"Ah," The woman hums, "I believe he was helping in the eastern schoolhouse." She offers. At the moment only two schools exist in New Asgard: One for the older and then the young adolescents. The southern school is for the older and eastern for the other. So Fenar is working with young children.

Loki nods, "Thank you for your help, Lady…" he trails slightly, but instead of being offended at his lack of knowing her, she smiles.

"Eurus." She offers, "It was my pleasure, my prince. Valkyrie."

They part from her and begin the long walk towards the school. It will be an hour at most and he's honestly considering dropping Brunnhilde off at some sort of store so she can get warmer. Frostbite isn't something he wants to deal with at the moment and he has his doubts she does either.

Loki turns his head towards her, to inquire if she wants to grab a warm drink from a nearby restaurant, but stops. Her expression is darkened slightly and her eyebrows pinched with frustration. She is not cold, she is angry.

Loki lightly nudges her with his shoulder. She looks up at him, and Loki gestures vaguely towards her person. "What?"

Her eyes narrow, " _What_ what?"

Loki raises an eyebrow, "You look prepared for murder."

Her jaw clicks. "It's nothing."

Isn't it?

"Of course," he agrees, "still. Tell me."

Irritation washes over her features, furthering her murder scowl. Loki hesitantly flexes his fingers out next to his sides. Brunnhilde isn't like his brother, whom Loki knows will explain with enough prodding. She either explodes or shuts down. Neither are very wanted at the moment.

She lifts up her head and releases a hefty exhale. "It's just—I have a na—" She starts to say, but doesn't make it any further than a few strained syllables as a loud voice calls out behind them. The tone is filled with fury, and Loki stills in recognition.

" _Loki_ _Fjörgynn Vé!"_

Loki pinches his eyes shut and releases a small breath.

This is going to end violently.

Thor hasn't sounded this angry in years. His ire is pouring across his words easily and it has been a  _long_ time since his middle names were yelled at him, and the last person to was their father. Asgardian names are usually reduced to two because there is a untrue paranoia that evil spirits will possess the person once their full names are given. Loki finds it ridiculous, but their father believed in it, and in turn, most of Asgard. Thor's middle names were not even used at his coronation because of this.

Loki spins on his heal with a wide smile stretched across his face that holds not a whit of sincerity to it. Thor meets it with a scowl. The crowd is murmuring, quieting, and stopping to stare at them. So this is to be public, then?

Great.

"Thor," Loki greets cheerfully, backing up a few steps as Thor stomps towards him. His tongue is moving without his consent and the question slips out before he can catch it: "Did you sleep well?"

Thor's eyes flash.

By the Norns,  _what_ has he done  _wrong?_

"Well, you would know, wouldn't you?" Thor reaches him and jabs at his shoulder several times. Loki bites a this tongue to quell the yelp of pain at it. Thor's fingers are twitching with electricity. What is so wrong with sleeping? It isn't as if he attempted murder!

Loki grabs Thor's wrist to stop the contact and meets his siblings eyes. Thor still holds himself with exhaustion, and his eyes are still red and ill. He doesn't look well. Is he falling ill? Thor would never admit to weaknesses such as this and neither will Loki. Their father hated it. The crown is supposed to be a symbol of strength, he ground that phrase into their heads so many times it lost all meaning.

But if Thor  _is_ ill, then he needs to rest, not run around dealing with broken roofs and griping.

Loki's lips tip on a frown, "Yes, I would, wouldn't I?"

Thor rips his hand from his grip, but Brunnhilde moves before he can swing it. "Whoa," she states, placing her hand on Thor's chest to still him, "chill, alright? What happened?"

The citizens are quiet, desperate to hear every word for new gossip. They're hanging onto syllable and it sickens him. Disputes between others are not treated like a one-night only theater performance. Just them, as the crown.

"Loki doesn't trust me." Thor says flatly.

_What?_

_Where_ in the Nine did he get  _that_ idea?

Loki lifts up a finger, "That is  _not—"_

"I  _told_ you I felt fine, there was no need for your intervention, our father—"

"Please. I was—"

" _What. Happened?"_ Brunnhilde interrupts.

Loki latches his teeth on his tongue as Thor snaps his jaw shut and leans back, crossing his arms across his chest. He is not going to share anything. Loki presses until he taste blood, then relents: "I put a sedative in his coffee." Loki answers, without looking at her. The Asgardians rear backwards as if having been simultaneously struck. Loki grits his teeth, turning back to Thor. "If you had just agreed to lay down then I wouldn't have done it."

His sibling is quite intent on the idea he can run solely off of will power alone. Loki has tasted sleep deprivation to extremes and disagrees with Thor's assessment. Ergo: forcing him to sleep. Thor will likely see reasoning after a few days, but for now? Nay.

"I don't have  _time_ for that!" Thor snaps.

"You don't  _make_ time!"

"Enough! I'm not going to listen to your—"

"He was trying to help, Thor, let it go." Brunnhilde cuts, "You need to sleep anyway. Calm down."

"My father—" Thor starts, but stops suddenly, his face blanching. Loki's eyebrows lower with confusion. He staggers a step forward, and Loki's hands lift subconsciously to catch him should the need arise. Thor rests a hand against his forehead. "I think…something…I can't.. _.what._..." Thor rocks back and forth for a second before his eyes roll back and he slumps forward. Panic shoots through him and Loki jerks forward catching his sibling before his head can smack against the ground. He lowers Thor to the rough stone and presses a hand against his face, tapping.

"Brother?"

Nothing.

" _Brother?"_

" _Thor!?"_

His skin is warm, but not enough for a fever. What on the Nine is going on!?

Brunnhilde leans down beside him, a hand on his shoulder, "What's wrong? Is he sick?"

 _Yes!_ With  _what_ remains to be seen.

"I don't know." Loki answers, flipping a hand out to press against Thor's neck to feel for a pulse. It's sluggish. "I'm taking him to Eir." He gathers Thor in his arms and rises to his feet. The crowd is staring at him with wide, gawking eyes. He forces himself not to shrink under it. He moves forward to head to the Healing Halls, but the Asgardians don't shift. Irritation mixed with worry spike through him, "Move." he requests.

No one listens.

Loki removes a hand from Thor's back and twitches his fingers, forcefully shoving the front line out of the way with sorcery. They topple with grunts and exclamations of surprise, but he can't bring himself to care. " _Move!"_

The Asgardians hurry to make a path and Loki takes it wordlessly, Brunnhilde following behind.

000o000

Thor drifts in and out of consciousness, managing to pick out only random strings of sentences. He doesn't know where he is, or how he got here, but he doesn't worry to much on it. He can pick out Loki's baritone between others and knows that since Loki  _is_ there, he is safe. He recognizes Brunnhilde distantly as well, along with Eir and Heimdall. Others appear as well that he doesn't know, but Loki's presence doesn't falter.

When he finally  _does_ manage to grasp fully onto the thin thread leading to consciousness, a headache immediately greets him. It's nothing nearly as painful or obnoxious as recently, but it is enough to cause a slight noise to escape between his lips.

Someone murmurs something to him that he doesn't understand before a cup is pressed against his lips and Thor swallows on instinct. The water is blessedly cool as it rushes down his throat and he makes a slight noise of protest when it pulls back.

"I know, my king," a woman says softly, "but it's best you wait."

Eir.

Why is Eir here?

Is someone hurt?

Loki.

Thor forces his eyelid apart and blinks rapidly at the sudden brightness. It's painful and causes him to wince, but he presses forward, thoughts of his younger brother driving him forward. As the room gradually comes into focus, Thor spots Eir standing at the foot of the cot he's on, and Heimdall across the room expression guarded.

"...ki." Thor hisses between his teeth.

Fingers squeeze his hand and Thor turns his head to the right with more effort than it should be to meet the eyes of his younger brother. Loki looks like he hasn't slept in days and his hair is a mess. His expression isn't happy and for a moment Thor is certain he's about to be whacked. Loki's hands don't move from their positions, but his eyes narrow.

"You are an idiot." He declares firmly. Yes, that is true.

Thor's eyebrows raise slightly and he sighs leaning into the comfortable warmth the bed is providing. "Good to see you to." His voice is soft, but still sounds raw.

"Thor." Loki's voice is firm, "This isn't a joke."

"He is right, my king," Eir agrees and Thor feels a slight twist in his chest at it. " _My king". He used to just be Thor to her._ Now he is nothing but royalty. Thor bites at his tongue to keep his thoughts to himself.

Eir moves forward and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, brows drawn together. She stares at him with her piercing blue eyes and it makes him feel vaguely self conscious. Does she have to stare like that? Can't she stop? He turns his gaze from her's and stares at the wall across from the hospital bed. He can feel Loki and Heimdall's gaze on him as well. Why is Heimdall  _here?_

Do they have to keep  _staring?_

"My king," Eir says and Thor flips his gaze to her from habit. Her lips are pursed. "When was the last time you ate anything?"

Thor freezes. He attempts to relax his muscles, but fails.

It's not for her to know! He doesn't want the stupid lecture that's bound to follow about how they  _have_ to eat more as a society now because of Asgard's destruction so the source they draw their power from has been severed, but not destroyed and food can stop it from being gone completely and vulnerability isn't welcomed so—

"I…" Thor trails.  _Come on, come up with something convincing. "_ The Curia Regis had a feast and I ate something then." Thor blurts and resists childish the urge to slam a hand over his mouth at the lie.

Eir's eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn't push. "I see. My king, you can't afford another incident like this."

No. He can't. How could he have been so  _stupid?_ He has to be a symbol of strength for his people and passing out in the streets isn't a way to do that and—how did he even  _get_ here? Loki? How long has he  _been_ here? He's waiting precious time twiddling his thumbs when he could be out caring for his people and— _and—_

"A few more hours of bedrest at  _least."_ Eir says, interrupting his thoughts and Thor bites back a groan.  _Hours?_ He doesn't  _have_ hours, but there is little chance of him leaving this room with both Heimdall  _and_ Loki present. "I'm going to go get you something to eat."

Thor blanches and she rises from the bed. "Wait—you don't have to do that." Thor blurts.  _Please don't do that!_

Eir looks back at him, puzzled, "It won't be a problem. I'll be a few minutes." She turns to Heimdall, "You can send Sif in while I'm getting this. She's been pestering me about seeing him since she got here."

Thor whips his head towards Loki, confused, " _Sif?"_

Is she not dead?

The last Thor saw of Sif was during his act of treason to get to Svatherheim. After he renounced his throne he left for Midgard and didn't return to Asgard until after Surtur. It's been somewhere close to four years. He has no idea where she has been this entire time, nor where she was during Ragnarok. He thought that the Warriors Three and Sif were dead.

No one told him otherwise.

Loki's lips thin slightly, but he doesn't say anything. Heimdall speaks up first: "She arrived a few hours ago from Vanaheim. She was staying with her aunt and uncle during Ragnarok and just managed to get a transport here."

Sif.

Sif is  _here._

Sif isn't dead.

Something bubbles in his chest, relief, anxiety, happiness—he doesn't know. Just an overwhelming  _need_ to see his shield-sister. Eir catches his expression and hides a smile skillfully. "I'll go tell her you're ready to see her."

Thor's stomach twists further.

He turns to Loki, "How long have I been  _out?"_

Loki smiles, but there's something strangely bitter about it. "Fifteen hours."

 _Fifteen hours!?_ He shouldn't be in here, he needs to taking care of New Asgard and he can't do that from doing  _nothing!_ Thor makes a move to sit up, but Loki's pale, cold hand grabs at his chest and shoves him back down. Thor tilts his head towards his brother.

"Rest." Loki says firmly, there is no wiggle room for argument and Thor doesn't feel like pushing to make it.

Loki pulls his hand back and Thor blinks sluggishly up at the ceiling, suddenly dizzy. Maybe sitting up was a bad idea.

Barely a minute passes before the door is opened once more.

He overheard a few of the Asgardians speaking of the Warriors Three's deaths, he never heard word on Sif. He never asked Loki, even though he was king, but it matters not. She's here  _now_ and it has been far to long. It feels like a millennia, rather than a bare four years.

The darker haired woman strides into the hospital room, a bright smile across her lips. Her eyes are alight with a sincere brightness Thor hasn't seen for some time. He sees Loki twitch from the corner of his eye, but ignores it.

Brunnhilde is behind the woman, a fiery look in her eyes and though her hand is resting on the sword strapped to her belt, she looks otherwise calm. She knows who Sif is, Thor explained the story at some point during the last few months to her, though he can't recall when.

"Thor!" Sif exclaims and shifts across the room towards him, her arms outstretched and envelopes him in a tight hug. Her grip is thick and welcoming as if she can push all his broken pieces back together with a single embrace. It reminds him of his mother, abruptly, and Jane. It makes his heart ache. Brunnhilde shifts a few feet from the doorframe, but moves no further. Thor returns Sif's embrace with an almost desperate earnesty to it.

"Sif!" Thor exclaims with enthusiasm. Sif pulls away and Thor lets her go with reluctance, "It has been some time, my friend!"

"Indeed!" Sif agrees, taking a seat beside him, her expression joyful and smoothed. She flicks her gaze across him several times, but her eyes linger on his eye, "What happened to your eye?"

His sister cut it out and merely grimaced with disgust before stabbing him four more times.

Thor's fingers shift towards the eye patch almost subconsciously, tracing over the leather. He hates the feeling of it against his skin, it's raw and  _wrong,_ but it hurts less than Rocket's eye did. It kept rubbing at his insides and shocking him. It makes him more like Odin, however, for which he should be grateful, he guesses, but he's not.

He forces his voice to be wrapped with facading cheer. "Ah, tis' nothing." He assures, "Merely a loss from Ragnarok." Nothing less, nothing more.

Sif's lips thin. "I regret I couldn't be there to help you fight."

Because if Sif had been involved, they  _obviously_ wouldn't have lost against their sis—stop it.  _Stop it._ Sif means well, Thor doubts she was lounging on a beach somewhere as their home planet was lost. She meant to help, but she couldn't. He is a king, he needs to think higher than this. Does it hurt that she wasn't there.  _Yes._ But he is not going to blame her. He won't.

Thor shrugs helplessly, "It was beyond your reach, I thought you dead."

"I am not." Sif assures, giving his arm a squeeze, "I have missed you." She promises. Thor sags under her grip. He should have talked to her before he left for Midgard, but he didn't. She was under trial for her treason and wasn't cleared of all her charges until Thor had left.

He bites at his tongue, but gives her the best reassuring smile he can muster. His  _bones_ ache. "And I you. Loki said—"

" _Loki?_ " Sif repeats, cutting him off, there's something strange in her expression that Thor doesn't quite understand. His voice, however, catches in his throat. "Why would…" Sif's eyes lift from him to Loki on his right and her eyebrows raise with surprise as her stance hardens. Thor's gaze lifts to his sibling as well, subconsciously. The skin around Loki's eyes tightens a minuscule amount, but he otherwise looks relaxed and collected. "What is  _he_ doing here?" Her finger jabs out to gesture towards Loki, her gaze cold.

Thor's stomach sinks. Sif has never been... _fond_ of Loki after the hair incident, but the utter disgust on her face is one he hasn't seen for centuries directed at anyone  _he_ knows. He is aware that the Warriors Three were constantly berating his younger brother and at the time Thor was indifferent to it. It sickens him now, but there's nothing that can be done.

He doesn't want to deal with this right now.

Why is he the only one who is  _honestly_ excited that Loki isn't dead?

Thor's tongue catches in his throat, "He…" Thor pauses, debating how much to honestly reveal. Before Loki's death, he would have divulged everything to his sister-in-arms without a problem. Now, as king, he must be more guarded. A king doesn't show weakness. He can't. His father insisted on that. He can't say for certain why Loki is here, though. Because all that matters is that he is  _here._  He knows that Loki cares for him, but—"He's helping me run Asgard." Thor blurts out at last. Loki once told him that anyone who doesn't want much of an argument to throw in politics.

It, however, doesn't work.

Sif isn't appeased. She's on her feet and her expression is twisted into something ugly. Thor struggles to shove up into a sitting position, but he can't do much more than that. If things turn physical there's nothing he can do.

Sif flicks a finger, " _Why!?_ Has he not done enough deceit for you to not trust him?" Sif prowling towards Loki like a lion striking for the final blow. Loki remains in the stupidly uncomfortable plastic hospital chair, staring up at her with a slightly bored expression. His eyes hold the wariness his stance doesn't betray. "He stole the throne!  _Twice!_ He has conned you into this, Thor! He has deceived and lied to you—to all of us!"

But— _wait! Stop it, stop it, stop it!_

_She can't chase Loki off!_

_Thor needs him!_

"Sif, please," Thor starts, an almost frantic note rising in his voice, he hates it. His father would remind him that " _kings do not beg, Thor, halt your mewling tongue",_ but Thor can't help it. He doesn't understand why Sif won't  _stop._  Her face is pinching red with her frustration, the words keep bubbling out of his throat, but he hardly understands their meaning: "He has redeemed himself. Please Sif, he changed his ways—"

"Changed?" Sif spits, " _Changed?_ Such a lost creature as himself is not  _capable_ of change. Do you not remember your coronation, Thor? What about when he lied to all of Asgard for  _four years?_ He is nothing more than a equivocator." She turns to Loki, "You will not have Asgard! Was Midgard not enough for you? Decided that you need  _two_ Realms beyond one, now? What's next, Jotunheim?"

_What?_

Why on the Nine Realms would he—?

"Not that I am aware of, no." Loki grits between his teeth. Thor flicks his gaze to him desperately. Loki's expression is carefully blank, but there's something frustrated building in his gaze. Loki has never been able to completely conceal the emotion from his emerald eyes. Sif's words are not falling on deaf ears anymore, and Thor wishes they would.

"Oh, so he speaks! At last!" Sif says loudly. "I had thought your silvertongue had turned to lead."

Thor winces.

It was a jibe they often used on his younger brother when he couldn't think of something to say or failed in manipulation, which was not often. Loki hated it.

"I have little intentions of subjection, Lady Sif." Loki says, his voice stiff. Thor, among very few others, has seen the scars across Loki's back from Thanos, he knows of his innocence on New York. He was publicly cleared of the incident.

" _As if_!" Sif scoffs, "Lies! Leave Thor be, don't drag him into this—!"

Loki lurches to his feet, frustration pouring through him clearly as he lifts a finger up towards her: "I'm not dragging him into  _anything—"_

"Stop lying! You're  _always_  lying!" Sif stops, scowl set on her face, her fury is so tangent, it might as well have been pouring from her ears, "I cannot believe that Queen Frigga had the audacity to claim she was proud of you."

The words were not directed at him, but he still feels it like a physical blow. A pained hiss escapes him quietly at it and he attempts to untangle his tongue from the roof of his mouth, but he can't. It's frozen and refuses to move.

_Speak, you idiot!_

_He can't!_

Loki's mouth parts, a ragged noise escaping between his teeth. No words escape him and Thor realizes after a second that his eyes are wide and wet. His fists clench at his sides.

_Speak!_

Sif looks strangely smug and drives on: "You're never going to be anything more than a good for nothing, duplicitous  _Jotunn_ wretch—" He is not quite sure what grand conclusion she had planned for her statement, but it never makes it into the space between them. Brunnhilde's fist collides with the Asgardian's face and the woman is thrown backwards several feet, head tipped and blood pouring from her nose.

Brunnhilde shifts in front of Loki almost strangely defensive, giving her wrist a few shakes back and forth, her expression is livid. Thor has never seen her this furious; usually there is a playful tint to her eyes, but now there is only a cold steal. She looks quite prepared to commit murder twice over. He leans subconsciously backwards a infinitesimal amount from her, wary.

He sees Loki shift back from the corner of his eye, but can't read his sibling's expression from this angle. Sif lifts her fingers to her bleeding appendage and looks up at Brunnhilde, offended and obviously angry.

He can't see Brunnhilde's expression from her position in front of Loki, but he imagines it is something nasty if Sif's face is anything to go by.

"Get out." Brunnhilde's voice is hot.

Sif draws back, "Excuse me?" She demands, pulling her hand away; it's painted with blood. "Thor is my friend, you struck  _me."_

Thor can't get his tongue to work properly, it's frozen at the roof of his mouth and refuses to come down. This is only going to escalate if he does nothing.

Loki's breath escapes as a slight gasp of struggling breath and he takes a step forward, but Brunnhilde lifts her arm up, fist clenched and it slams against his chest halting his escape. Loki's hands are shaking at his sides and guilt swims through his stomach at it. Why didn't he say anything? He's not only Loki's king, but his older  _brother._ Is there anywhere he isn't failing!?

He clenches his fits together, digging his fingernails into his palms.

Brunnhilde leans back, but her hand refuses to move, her gaze is frozen on Sif. "Do you think I flipping care?" She hisses, her voice low, " _Get. Out."_

Sif draws up to her full height, mouth parting to likely begin to list her social status (not that it would matter at this point, Brunnhilde outranks her now), but the Valkyrie is thoroughly done with the woman.

Brunnhilde shifts her hand from Loki's chest to the hilt of the sword strapped at her side and Sif apparently takes her seriously. Her eyes heat up, but she scrambles away from the room looking embarrassed as she tips her head back to stem the bleeding of her bruising nose.

The door closes behind her, almost with an echo and as soon as it's shut firmly, Brunnhilde swears. Loud and violently. When she runs out of words in English, she switches to Aardent.

Thor and Loki watch her warily.

This is nothing that Mother or Father would have encouraged; Father would have likely reprimanded him till his face was blue and Mother would have had her face set in that disappointed twitch that wouldn't go away until they solved whatever the problem was.

Thor is barely recognizable from who he was six years ago, Sif...Sif is agitated for reasons he doesn't understand. She had  _no reason_ to go after Loki like that and—

Oh,  _Norns._

_What if Loki thinks he agrees with her because he didn't speak up?_

Then Loki will leave and abandon Thor here, by himself and he really  _will_ lose his mind to insanity.  _No._  He's not supposed to rely on other people like this. (But how can he  _stop!?)_  A king must stand alone. Why can't he stop  _failing!?_

Brunnhilde turns to pace, striding from one length of the room to the other her eyes still cold. She glances at him, then Loki, "Sit." She commands, waving a hand out towards his brother sharply. Loki stiffly slides back into the plastic chair, stuffing his shaking hands between his legs. He's quiet. Too quiet. His eyes are still red and his lips are parted with slight disbelief.

He keeps staring at his hands.

Jotunn.

He's thinking about it.

Thor suddenly regrets his decision to tell Sif about his heritage. Asgard was never told of his true parents; only those within the council and upper nobility know. Thor told Sif personally, with the other Warriors Three. As far as Asgard is aware though, Loki simply decided one day to commit treason and then thrust himself into the Void. The blame for the Bifrost was leveled onto him as well, even though it was equally (if not more) his fault.

Loki's name was smeared through mud up hill and Thor walked away with nary a scratch to his social status.

Brunnhilde stomps pass him, "I don't like her." She declares.

Obviously. Thor doesn't often go around punching people in the face violently that he likes.

Thor slowly leans back into the dozen of pillows stuffed behind his head, eyeing her. His lips remained pressed together. Loki can't seem to get his apart.

"I can't believe she  _said_ that in front of you." Brunnhilde shakes her head in frustration, her lips pout and she exhales sharply between clenched teeth. She paces the length of the room again before turning back and waving a hand at him. "She's wrong."

"Is she?" Loki's voice is quiet, but there's a hopeless edge to it that makes Thor's stomach twist.

"Yes." Brunnhilde says firmly.

Loki's eyes widen slightly with embarrassment and his lips smack together as if he hadn't meant to actually say that aloud. Thor tilts his head towards him, expression furrowed, "Of course she is, Loki, she was just surprised to see you here. You must know that."

Thor bites at his tongue as soon as the words have plopped from his mouth. That came out wrong. It wasn't what he meant. Or at least, it sounds...awkward.

Brunnhilde snorts, "Right."

Thor looks away from his sibling and tastes blood after a moment. Sif isn't a horrible witch she's just...oh,  _Norns,_ how does he explain this? "Sif…" he trails for a second, gathering his thoughts. "Often does not think before she speaks. She is used to having to fight her way for everything."

Brunnhilde stops, turning to look back at him, "Are you  _defending_  her?" She sounds almost appalled by it.

Thor is puzzled, "Yes."

Beside him, Loki's fingernails dig into the sides of his legs sharply. Thor resists his immediate impulse to grab Loki's hands to get him to stop. It will only make things worse.

Brunnhilde's eyebrows lift comically high, "Did you  _hear_ anything of what she just said?"

"Of course I did!" Thor agrees.

"Then why are you flipping  _okay_ with it!?"

" _I'm not!_ " Thor's voice is raising, but he doesn't quite know how to stop it. "I hate it when she does that!"

Loki looks at him, startled. It makes Thor's heart ache in a way he can't express properly so he turns his head away from his younger brother's wide eyes.

"' _When she does that_ '?" Brunnhilde repeats, expression growing more murderous. "So it's  _often?"_

Yes. Sif and Loki have never gotten on well (they have their moments when they can coexist in peace, but neither are angels in their relationship) and it often ends with bickering.

Thor remains quiet. Brunnhilde's eyes narrow and she stomps towards them causing Loki to rear back slightly from her and Thor to lean away. Her eyes hold the promise of something painful. He's never been frightened of her, not really, but now he slightly fears for the state of his head. She jabs at his shoulder several times, demanding an answer _, "Thor."_

Brunnhilde was never anything in the Valkyries ranking above lieutenant, but she served under Hela. Before the civil war that split the kingdom in half in the middle of the War over Midgard between Asgard and Jotunheim, Hela was in charge of the Valkyries. She led the assault on the Jotunns that drove them back to Jotunheim. Her brutal slaughter of their race is only what Thor assumes is why his father banished her. Admittedly, he honestly often forgets that Brunnhilde is older than them by over a thousand years. By Midgards standards, she'd be what? Thirty-three, thirty four? Now, he can see both her age and her rank come pouring onto into a simple sweeping prod at his shoulder.

It makes him want to shrink.

His tongue is tangled in his throat.

_He doesn't know what to do._

Loki shifts in his chair and leans forward, "Brunnhilde—" Loki starts, his voice is strangely quiet.

Brunnhilde turns to him, the same fire lit in her eyes. Seeing his expression, it softens slightly and she draws back from Thor. "She's wrong, Lacky." She states, firmly. "I'm not sorry I punched her."

Yes, she doesn't look the part of a mournful weeper. Oh, for the Norn's sake—She can't just go around punching people; violence isn't the answer to everything. Sif is his citizen and has rights,  _not_ being punched is one of those. Brunnhilde can't do this every time someone frustrates her—she's on his  _Curia Regis_  now. They are the most elite in Asgard, they set the example for their citizens, if she starts reacting with violence to everything, word is going to get out.

"Brunnhilde—" Thor starts, his voice sounds exhausted. It barely matches the degree that  _he_ is.

"I'm not." Brunnhilde snaps, turning to face him, expression livid. "Nothing you say is going to change that. Only  _I_ get to pick on you. She's a jerk."

Thor feels dizzy. Brunnhilde hisses through her teeth and reaches a hand out to give Loki's shoulder a quick squeeze, an affectionate gesture makes his spine go rigid, but the Valkyrie doesn't seem to care. She flicks her gaze towards him, "Eat something before I shove it down your throat." With that stated, Brunnhilde sweeps from the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

Thor bites at his tongue and chews firmly on the desire to weep. He turns his head towards Loki. His younger brother is leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his legs. He's looking at the ground between his feet, but he isn't focused on it. He's not present mentally, wandering in the vast halls that he's elaborated within his mind.

This is his fault. Why can't he be a better older brother!? If he had just  _stopped_ Sif than this wouldn't have happened! What is  _wrong_ with him?

Loki tilts his head up before rising to his feet. He's quiet. Too quiet. Loki appreciates silence and despite how much everyone pesters him otherwise, is actually not fond of the sound of his own voice; but still, though, he  _talks._ Thor doesn't know what to do. He wants to help but he can't. What does he  _say?_

Thor is gnawing on his tongue now, and can easily taste blood. "Loki…"

Loki waves a hand to silence him, then crosses them over his chest, turning away from him. His stance is something Thor can't read. Loki makes a sound that could be laughter, but sounds like a defeated moan. "I apologize that I am so flighty with my loyalties, brother mine."

A physical pain shoots through him. "You're  _not—"_

"Am I?" Loki challenges and turns and looks back at him. Yes. No.  _Norns,_ what does he say?

Thor nods hesitantly, "It wasn't  _you_ who attacked Midgard, Loki, it was...him. You'd never betray me. Not now. Not then—I don't think that." Norns, why is he have to be the only person in his family without a silvertongue?

Loki frowns and his lips part to say something, but at that moment Eir reappears with a tray in hand. She looks a little winded and stares at both of them with her piercing stare in the doorway before moving forward. "Had a bit of row, did we?" Eir questions.  _Row?_ That's an understatement.

Neither Loki or him bother to answer. Eir doesn't appear to mind and crosses the room in a few long strides.

"Sif's nose looks painful." Eir comments and rests the tray of food on Thor's lap. It's two pieces of toast and some sort of drink. He can't remember what it's called, but he can vaguely draw memories of Darcy being fond of it.

Thor's stomach twists with disgust and anticipation.

He's not going to eat it.

He doesn't want to eat it.

He's going to be sick.

Make it  _stop._

"Loki," Eir calls and Loki lifts his head towards her, lips pressed into a thin line. Thor can't help the slip of resentment that washes through him at it.  _He_ is still Loki, but now he is "my king". Why does everything have change? Eir waves a hand, "I need to speak with you on something."

The two exit the room without a look back at him and as soon as the door is shut, Thor looks down at the food. His stomach is hollow. Empty. Painful. Would it really be so bad if he—No.  _No._ He has to get rid of this, they won't stop pestering him unless he eats it. How? Thor glances around the room rapidly until he spots a waist bucket on the side.

It's likely for throwing up, but Thor makes quick work of one of the slices into it and sits up rigidly as the handle to the door is pressed then opened. Loki takes several steps into the room and pauses, his lips thinning. He stares at the plate for a second and Thor inwardly squirms.

"Eir says that we can leave when you've finished." Loki states tonelessly.

Relief explodes across him and he sets the tray to the side. "I'm done now. We should leave." Thor says. Loki eyes him for another moment, looking as if he's about to argue, but simply snaps his jaw shut and nods with agreement.

They exit the Healing Halls twenty minutes later, food untouched.

000o000

It takes four days before Loki stops his trailing, following and all around not letting Thor from his sight. Well endearing, Thor finds it more aggravating than anything. Loki forces him to eat meals that Thor picks at pathetically and from instruction via Eir, he's not allowed to leave the house for the first three. When he finally  _does_ make it out at day four, his people are oddly concerned and... _gentle_ with him. As if he's some sort of thin glass window that will shatter at the barest touch. It's enough to make him want to tear out his hair in annoyance. He doesn't, however, see a hair of Sif.

Which is now why he, without Loki's surveillance, is seeking her out.

New Asgard isn't the most vast city ever and the people are well acquainted with each other, so it shouldn't take to much time. Asgard itself before Ragnarok was a little bigger than Midgard's Russia, so there is a sizable difference between the small city tucked into the cliffside of Norway and what Asgard used to be.

Thor had scarcely talked to a handful of people before he was directed to a blacksmith.

So, now he stands twenty minutes later, perhaps a dozen feet from where Sif is sitting on a bench (probably waiting for the repair of her sword) attempting to build up the courage to talk to her. This is ridiculous. He's come of age, he's king of his country, he's fought off a mad Titan and he can't even talk to a woman he's known since childhood.

Thor grinds his teeth together and awkwardly fidgets with his hands again.

This is a less busier part of New Asgard. Although weapons are still maintained and kept pristine, the business is own by a family that wanted to run it from their home and not many people have need of new weapons at the moment. It's not exactly a neighborhood, but Thor can see this houses' fellows from this distance.

Just  _move._

He has feet. He can walk forward—why is he remaining here?

Thor drags himself a few steps, then proceeds to force himself the remaining distance and take a seat next to the dark haired Asgardian. She seems mildly startled, but her stance immediately relaxes when she recognizes him. Her nose isn't bruised anymore and it hardly looks like the violent confrontation in the hospital room even occurred.

"Thor." Sif greets, her voice is curt and devoid of the usual warmth Thor associates with it.

Thor turns towards her, "Sif. I hope I am not intruding…"

"No," she reassures quickly, "I am merely waiting. My spear was damaged in my journeys and I was getting it repaired."

Thor nods with agreement. They sit in silence for a long moment and Thor fidgets with his fingers. As far back as he can remember, he cannot recall.. _.this_  being a part of their relationship. Sif has always been something of a sister to him and the awkwardness is unusual. Unwanted.

Sif clears her throat and runs a hand through her hair. "I haven't seen Mjolnir."

Thor flexes his fingers, an ache running through his stomach at the reminder of the hammer's loss. "Another casualty to Ragnarok." Thor admits.

Sif's head lifts slightly, "There is little we did not lose." Yes. They lost much. But Asgard is not a place, it is a people. If Thor attempts to bare something else in mind when he thinks back on Asgard, the sense of loss is staggering.

Thor shrugs slightly, "Asgard is not a place, it—"

"—is a people," Sif finishes, "yes. I've heard that repeated to me many times over the last few days when I've asked about the destruction." She looks at him, brown eyes earnest, "I swear to you that I would have returned sooner had I known what was happening. I was looking for the Soul Stone when I heard of this."

Thor's eyebrows raise with surprise, "You too were searching for the Stones?"

Sif nods. "Yes. By my own choice...and at the request of your brother," the last two words are spoken with distaste, "he was playing Odin at the time, I had no reason to disobey him. He was my king." Her lips curl and Thor bites back the frustration and the anxious feeling that arouses in him.

She was not successful, though. Thor never met her on his desperate search, and Gamora (perhaps his father as well, Thor is not certain) was the only living being who knew where the Soul Stone resided.

Thor turns to her, "Do you plan on remaining in New Asgard for long?"

Sif is quiet for a long minute.

The tension living in his chest bites painfully.

"I am not certain," Sif admits at last. She meets his eyes, "I want to."

"But?"

Sif rests a hand on his, her brown eyes earnest. When she speaks, her tone is earnest, but gentle: "Thor, we have both changed so. I am not the woman I was before Malekith's attack, and you are not the same man. This is not the Realm we grew from birth from and I do not know if I could find peace here."

Disappointment is crippling.

"But will you try?" Thor pleads, "Please, Sif, I miss you."

"And I you." She reassures, giving his fingers a squeeze, "I will try; but I do not know if it will last. You are my shield-brother and my friend."

Thor flicks his gaze to his feet for a moment, then lifts it to open his mouth and speak, but a young man approaches them, Sif's double sided spear in hand. He pauses, looking awkward for a moment, but after a second of rocking he lifts the weapon out towards Sif. "We fixed the chipping as well as re-balanced the weight."

Sif takes it with a nod, "Thank you Geri."

He gives a curt bow, "It was my honour, my lady." He dips his head in respect towards Thor, "My king." Geri scuttles off looking out of place and more than a little awkward as he does so. It reminds Thor of Bruce, abruptly, who has the magical skill of looking out of place anywhere.

"Lord Brookson offered to find me accommodations," Sif announces abruptly, startling Thor from his wandering thoughts. "I'll be late if I don't leave now. It was a pleasure to speak with you once more, my king."

"Thor." Thor blurts, resisting the childish urge to slam a hand over his mouth after he's done so. He can't stand the thought of losing someone  _else_ to the stupid title. Even when he was crown prince, he was still called "Prince Thor". Now they just call him "king". Sif eyes him strangely and Thor quickly appends: "There is no need for such titles, Sif, we are friends."

The strange look in her eye doesn't fade, but she nods and rises to her feet. "Of course." Sif lingers for a moment more then rests a hand on his shoulder, pausing only long enough to say:"You really should eat something, Thor; you look like a sick animal." Then walks off in the direction of the Main Square, leaving Thor frozen on the bench with his thoughts.

A sick animal.

He doesn't  _look_ like a sick animal, he looks like a king. A tired, worn out, exhausted king. How else is he supposed to appear? As king, it is pivotal that he's a band of strength for his people, but he has to  _be_ a banner of strength and he can't do both effectively at the moment. Some day, in the future he supposes he will. Just...not now.

Yes.

He'll work for that.

He's not a sick animal.

He's not even sick.

He looks  _fine._

_It's all fine._

000o000

Thor spends the rest of the day attempting to help where he can, but rather than allow him to help as they did in the past, the Asgardians seem to disregard his efforts all together. They treat him as if he's a poor kitten that needs it's wounds to be dressed and plenty of rest. It's maddening. He can  _handle_ holding a few boards of wood for buildings, or assisting  _anyone_ with  _anything._ People do not seem to trust this fact.

He feels like a young toddler again, at his mother's side as they run errands through Serenity, but his people refusing to accept his help because he is young and foolish.

He doesn't see Brunnhilde, Loki, or Sif for the rest of the day and by the time he starts the walk up the hill towards his and Loki's home, he's well on the edge of wanting to strangle something.

Honestly, he's never felt more useless than he did today.

He grits his teeth together and quietly hopes that Loki isn't home so he can just go to bed without having to interact with any more living beings as he shoves the key into the lock. He twists it and shoves the door open, more disappointed than he cares to admit when he realizes that a light is on. Loki  _is_ here.

Thor pockets the key and forces out a breath, closing the door with his foot as he shrugs off the jacket and dumps it onto the hooks they have next to the door. He unties the laces for his boots and forces them off before dragging himself down the hall towards the living room/kitchen area.

Loki materializes in front of him as he does so, looking strangely content and has flour smeared across his clothing and face. Thor mentally braces himself. Please let nothing have exploded.

"I made dinner," Loki announces.

Thor stares at him.

Ah.

Um.

Hmm.

"You don't cook." Thor says simply. Not that Loki  _can't,_ Loki is far from a terrible cook, he just...doesn't.

Loki shrugs and moves back towards the kitchen, Thor trailing after him. "Heimdall nearly dragged me back here to sleep, but I couldn't and I figured that this was better than staring up at the ceiling and hoping that I don't lose my mind before the hour has passed."

Loki's been losing sleep? Thor...Thor hasn't noticed.

Loki directs him towards a chair, but Thor isn't aware of this until he's sitting at the table. Thor blanches. Wait! He didn't agree to  _eat_ anything.  _Wait!_

Thor's mouth opens and the rambling begins to pour out: "Brother, while I appreciate the offer, I really—"

Loki side glances him with a  _look_  that stills his tongue. " _Thor."_  He stops his trek towards the kitchen and moves back towards the table. He's doing his stupid puzzle face again. "What is this?"

" _What_ what?" Thor demands.

"This has been going on for weeks. Months." Loki answers.

" _What_ has?"

Would it kill him to give a straight answer?

Loki pauses, looking as if he's gathering together patience. "I'm not an idiot."

"Yes."

Loki raises his hands and gestures towards Thor, "This—this  _food_ thing." Thor's blood runs cold and he bites down rising bile. He's going to throw up. The knot is stealing his breath. "You've been skipping for weeks, I haven't said anything, but I've noted it and—"

"You've been keeping  _track?"_ Thor hisses, a slight anger rising in him, as well as disgusted horror.  _Loki's been watching. For weeks. Not days. Weeks._ No one was supposed to notice—not for anything but to mention that he's been a good king. Not this.  _Not this._

" _Eat something before I shove it down your throat."_

" _You look like a sick animal."_

" _I've made note."_

_Stop staring._

_Stop staring!_

_STOP. STARING!_

"No." Thor breathes out. Something has grabbed this throat and is rattling him.

"Brother," Loki's voice is gentle, but edged "if you don't want to discuss it now, I understand, but you  _need_ to eat something."

_No!_

_He doesn't!_

"No." Thor protests, his fingers digging painfully into his palms. It's a habit he picked up from Loki over recent years. "I'm not going to eat this."

Loki's expression morphs into one that Thor doesn't understand. "Thor, please; you're scaring me."

It's not that bad!

 _Norns,_ he can't do this anymore.

Thor leaps from the table and rushes towards his bedroom, slamming the door shut and twisting the lock. He leans against the wood, breath escaping him raggedly. He can't eat.  _He can't._ He has to manage this well and eating is only going to make him feel worse. Doesn't Loki  _get_ that?

"Thor." Loki's voice sounds outside the door nearly a minute later, and Thor bites at his tongue.

By the Nine, he doesn't want to talk about this. Not to him. Not to anyone. Not now, or ever.  _Nothing is wrong._ He's just managing the stress, if he's a little dizzy, does it matter? He's a good king when he can focus. He has to be a good king, he has to be one like Odin or he's not.

" _Thor."_ Loki is less calm, there's an edge to his tone.

Can't Loki see where he isn't wanted? He is making something so small into a large issue, as he often does. Loki isn't a creator of chaos, he's a drama queen. Thor has the urge to childishly call out for Loki to leave him alone, but remains quiet.

His silence must be grating on Loki's nerves, because a few seconds later, there's a loud slam (likely from Loki's fist smashing against the door) and Loki swears loudly in Aardent. "Thor, honestly, we're not children anymore—" they haven't been for a long time, Thor feels ancient, "—bloody—!  _Let me in!"_ The doorknob rattles and a sharp tang of panic slices through him.

Loki is a sorcerer, the locks are not going to stop him.

_Norns._

"I'm fine, Loki!" Thor grinds out of his aching throat, "Will you let it rest?"

""Let it rest"?" Loki thankfully stops his rattling on the door, but Thor can hear the disbelief in his brother's voice. "Thor, you  _fell unconscious_ from this. What exactly is it your trying to accomplish?"

He doesn't know!  _How is he supposed to know?_ He didn't  _want_ it, it just fell on him and he can't stop—he doesn't  _want_ it to stop. It helps. It is the  _only_ thing that helps. He can't fail his father. He can't disappoint his mother. Nor his people. No. He has to be strong.

"I can't fail our parents." Thor squeezes out, pinching his eyes shut and leaning heavily against the door. His muscles feel weak, he can't focus on anything right now. Why is it so hard!?

"Thor," Loki's voice is more patient, but it's a bare grasping by the fingertips, "you haven't failed them. You're not  _going_ to, you're a good king, stop fretting."

Sincere compliments from Loki are not often given out and Thor realizes distantly in the back of his mind with a whirl of pride that Loki doesn't think him a failure. He wouldn't release more Frost Giants to stop him. The forefront wails with retaliation: "No, I'm  _not! I'm failing!"_

"Why?" Loki challenges.

"I have no idea what on the bloody Nine Realms I'm doing!" Thor blurts out in a shout. As soon as the words escape him, horror grasps at his throat. Why did he say that. He wasn't supposed to say that! He slams a hand over his mouth and bites at his finger for a second. The pain lessons the desperate ache inside of him, but only for a moment.

"Starving yourself isn't going to help anything!" Loki argues, he sounds strangely desperate.

He's not  _starving!_  He's still eating. It's less than others, yes, but he's still eating. "I'm  _not."_ Thor deflects.

"Bloody—! Thor,  _enough,_ this is madness." Loki spits, his fingers rattling at the doorknob again.

Is it? It's  _working._ Madness is uncontrolled chaos, which this is  _not._ It  _is_ control. He's not going to confront him, the door between them isn't thick enough. He's bloody sick of Loki stuffing his face into his affairs, he didn't care for six years, why should he now? Loki is a stagnant being, he's lying, why would he care about him? Thor hasn't done anything to earn it. Their father always said that things such as this  _had_ to be earned.

Loki is lying to him. Again. He's always lying. Why can't he just  _tell the truth_ and stop making a huge parade out of such a simple thing that's not even that serious? "I'm not making myself bleed for attention, Loki, so bloody  _shut up_! I'm not slashing my skin open and  _enjoying it!"_ Thor seethes.

Loki stills on the other side of the door.

The words circulate in his head with the force of a heavy kick to the gut and Thor takes a physical step away from the door. Horror wraps around his throat and squeezes. Oh, Norns.  _Norns, Norns, Norns!_

They never talked about when Heimdall discovered Loki's issue with self inflicted pain, Thor didn't know how to approach it and simply didn't. His mother attempted to understand, but Loki wouldn't talk on it. Thor was only told to be a supporting hand when his parents confronted Loki on it. He knows Loki struggled on and off with the problem, but it was kept solely between their family and not breathed of to anyone else. Their father was ashamed of Loki for it and Thor couldn't understand why and assumed what his father did: it was for attention.

Loki had discovered this viewpoint and was furious. Thor didn't understand why. Loki managed to contain his issue and, as far as Thor is aware, hasn't done it in about thirty years now. He doesn't know, he didn't bother to  _ask._ It was a pain he didn't understand, and he didn't know how to sympathize.

Thor never confronted him, but he knows that the assumption of thirty is wrong.

Why the bloody—?

He shouldn't have said that.

_He should not have said that._

Adrenaline shoots through him and Thor skirts away from the door, grasping the handle and flipping the lock and ripping it open. Loki is missing from the doorway. A quick glance down the hall and Thor spots him quickly retreating towards the front door.

"Loki!" Thor calls and quickly moves towards the living room, " _Loki!"_

Loki finally comes to a halt. His stance is taut and his fists are clenched tightly, Thor is certain, however, that his expression is the blank mask it takes in Loki's quiet anger. Loki's explosive anger is destructive, but his quiet is severing.

Despair grasps at him.

He and Loki have sorted their differences, Loki has died for him twice now, but there are still lines they tread around. This is one of them. He's broken something he didn't mean to.

How is he supposed to run a Realm when he can't even hold a conversation with his brother?

His father would be so disappointed.

"I didn't—" Thor scrambles, uncertain what to say now that he has Loki's attention. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what  _did_ you?" Loki's voice is low, rigid;  _cold._

He doesn't know! He was just trying to get Loki to leave him alone. He should not have said that. "I—not—not...that." Thor states, lamely. He can't come up with anything intelligible to say.

Loki laughs, but it's dark and hissing. An uncomfortable feeling swirls through his gut. Loki turns to him, but instead of the blank mask he's expecting, Loki's eyes are red with unshed tears and his expression is twisted with something ugly.

The guilt in his chest twists further. A monster determined to choke him from the inside.

Thor moves towards him. Loki is standing a few feet from the front door and Thor reaches him with a few long strides. He has no idea how to fix this. He has never been good at repairing things, he only destroys it. Everywhere he goes he leaves trails of unrepairable messes. He has no idea what he's doing.

_Allfather's give him strength._

Thor leans forward and attempts to wrap his arms around Loki, but the younger reacts violently. He shoves at Thor's chest, sending him staggering backwards a few steps. " _Don't touch me!_ " Loki hisses. Where his hands touched burn, but it's not with severing heat, but a chill.

Thor stares at him, wide-eyed, "Loki…?"

Loki leans towards him, finger lifted; his eyes are wet, "You think I  _liked_ it? That I  _enjoyed_  the cutting?" Loki laughs, "I hated it. I hated  _every second._ You're trying to be all knowing as if you understand, but you don't. You  _can't._ Our Father didn't know everything, Thor,  _stop trying to be him."_

Loki's words slam into him harder than a physical blow would have. He staggers away from the younger and Loki shakes his head before spinning on his heal and flicking his hand out. Thor sees the spur of green magic slam into the lock before Loki rips the door open and slams it shut behind him. The lock clicks by itself and Thor releases a ragged breath.

Thor has often seen Loki's silvertongue used for manipulation and goading, but he often forgets it can be used to cut as well.

It bites worse than a physical blow ever could.

He collapses to his knees, vomit threatening to tear through his throat.

_Stop trying to be him._

But he was never taught how to be a different king than the one that his father was. If he's not a mirror image of Odin then he doesn't know  _how._ No one ever told him. Loki has helped, but he doubts his brother will return any time soon. Maybe even at all. Thor is admittedly afraid of Loki leaving permanently, and now he can be reassured knowing that Loki finally did leave, and it was by  _his_ hand.

A harsh sob rips through his throat and Thor squeezes his fists, burying his head into his hands, but can't keep the tears at bay.

000o000

It's hours later, well after one when he hears the front door open again. He's long since moved to his room, buried under as many blankets as he can manage, and despite the air that's around him, he feels like he's suffocating. Sleep has been impossible with all the thoughts raging in his head.

Thor stills and listens with bated breath.

He hears two sets of footsteps and buries confusion that rouses in him at it. They stop outside of his door and he hears door shift open. Thor squeezes his eyes shut and steadies his breathing, attempting to feign sleep. He doesn't want to talk with anyone. He's gone to bed socially.

"I told you that he'd be there." Thor nearly flinches with surprise, but catches himself. Brunnhilde. Her voice is soft, barely audible. What is she doing here?

"I didn't say that I doubted you." Loki's voice, just as silent. Loki. Here. Now. He doesn't sound close to murder. Just tired and strangely calm.

Brunnhilde hums with sarcastic agreement.

Rather than rising to the bait, Loki sighs. "You know how he is." Loki murmurs, "I worry."

"Yeah, me too." Brunnhilde whispers with agreement. "Stubborn butt, him."

They're both quiet for so long that Thor half thinks they've left before Brunnhilde says: "I'm tired, Lacky. You have my number, call me."

"I will."

"You better."

"Is that a threat, my dear Valkyrie?" Loki teases softly.

"Absolutely." Brunnhilde whispers, and there's the sound of flesh lightly hitting leather. Likely Brunnhilde punching him on the arm.

Loki huffs silently and closes the door, causing the light from the hall to cease from falling across Thor's face.

Thor blinks his eye open and hears the two move towards the front door. When the door has closed and Loki stopped shifting, he wraps his arms around his hollow stomach and squeezes his eye shut quietly begging for morning to never come.

000o000

"What are you doing?" Loki's voice is slurred with sleep, but he's squinting at Thor as if he's holding a bomb rather than the peace offering he's been working on for about half an hour now. Thor shoves down the restless monster in his chest and lifts the tray out towards his younger sibling further.

Loki struggles onto one elbow from his position on the couch and brushes stray hair from his face. He flicks his gaze from the tray to Thor several times, looking too tired to be mentally processing anything. A high difference from his siblings usual rapid fire mind.

Thor struggles to get the words out, but he manages: "I'm sorry."

Loki stares at him.

"About last night." Thor appends, "I'm sorry."

Loki sits up fully, the spare fleece blanket (one of the ones that Peter Parker gave them, it's Star Wars themed) falling to onto his legs. Loki stares up at him tiredly for another moment, then reaches forward to take the tray from his hands, swinging his bare feet over the side of the bed. It's then that Thor realizes that Loki is wearing long sleeves. He doesn't usually when he sleeps, and the sudden difference is stark.

The monster snakes up further, giddy.

Loki takes a sip of the tea then gestures towards the coffee table. Thor takes the silent invitation and sits down on the space, trying not to feel as out of place as he does. Loki rests the tray to the side, next to his left leg.

Thor isn't sure what to say to break this silence.

Loki doesn't look like he does, either.

Thor clears his throat awkwardly and rises to his feet, "It's almost ten," he says, causing Loki's head to perk up. "I'm going to go meet Heimdall in a few minutes, you can remain here."

Thor begins to walk towards the door, but pauses at Loki's voice: "Thor." Thor looks back at him. His brother's eyes are soft. "Thank you." It's as close as a " _I forgive you"_  that Thor is going to get and he sags with relief.

He nods in answer and sees Loki begin to pick at the waffles he prepared from the corner of his eye as he moves towards the exit hall. He grabs his jacket and shoves on his boots standing in front of the door for a second mentally bracing himself.

He doesn't know what's worse: the intoxicating feeling of this house, or putting up the strong front for his people. Right now, it's the former.

He shoves the door open, and lets it slide closed behind him, breathing in the bitter autumn air. He leaves Thor at the door and forces Asgard's king to take his place.

000o000

It's a little after midday when Thor is startled from his conversation with Lieutenant Ullr by a hand slamming down on his shoulder. He jumps, his hand going to grip the forearm of his assailant and flip them over his shoulder, but he stops when, as he turns, he recognizes the face. More accurately,  _faces._

Steve blinks back at him, looking startled at the reaction. Natasha, Tony, Clint, and Bruce don't look much different behind the captain. Thor's heart leaps into his chest in surprise and he releases the blond's arm standing stiffly.

"Shall we continue this later, then, my king?" Lieutenant Ullr questions.

What?

Oh.

Yes.

Thor glances back at the redhead, "Ah—yes, I apologize for the interruption."

Lieutenant Ullr shakes his head, "It is of no matter."

As soon as the man is out of sight, Thor turns back to the Avengers, attempting to understand their sudden presence. They are not dressed in their suits, simple travel clothing with thick jackets to work with the weather. He did not receive a call to assemble, nor did he request their presence here, so  _what are they doing?_

"I—what are you doing here?" Thor demands, his voice sounds sharper than he means for it to.

Clint huffs quietly, "Hello to you to."

Thor bites back embarrassment, "I did not mean—"

"We know," Natasha assures moving forward and wraps him in a hug. He tenses at the touch, but relaxes into her arms. He doesn't get hugs often anymore, only from Loki on occasion and Brunnhilde maybe twice. Natasha's always make him feel safe.

She pulls back, her green-blue eyes watching him carefully.

It's concerned.

And he doesn't know why.

"We're just here for the day," Steve says, almost apologetically, "we couldn't get any more time off." Why would he need more?

"Mmm, problem with day jobs," Tony says, pulling off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket's pocket. His eyes linger on Thor, however, "They get in the way of  _everything."_

"Right?" Clint agrees.

Thor stares at them, the banter is familiar. Comforting. But he still has no idea what they're doing. "Why are you here?" He presses, forcing his tone to be less biting.

Bruce stares at him, tilting his head and looking strangely puzzled, "You don't know?"

No.

He doesn't.

Why do they think he keeps asking?

The Avengers share a glance before Bruce moves forward, "Loki called us. He wouldn't give details, but well…" Bruce shrugs, "here we are. What do you need?" Loki. Even after the fight, after all Thor said, Loki still thought of  _him._ He called the Avengers in the middle of the night for  _him._

There are days that Thor wants to strangle Loki and curse the fates for giving him a brother, and then there are others, like now, where he realizes he does not deserve him for a sibling.

The monster releases suddenly and the tension that has been building for days upon days threatens to release at once. Thor feels himself just... _deflate._ He has responsibilities he needs to attend to, a kingdom to run that can't wait and all he  _wants_ to do is spend the remainder of the day with his team.

"I don't…" Thor trails, attempting to figure out how best to put this.

Tony rolls his eyes and swings a hand across his shoulders, "Be calm. We have no plans to pull you from your kingy-ness-things." He assures, giving his arm an awkward pat, "We'll help."

Thor stares at them, "You will?" He repeats dubiously.

"I'm going to pretend to not be offended," Clint announces. "Yeah. We are. Just tell us where to hop off to, Goldilocks."

He has no idea where to send them. He didn't plan for this. Thor stands still for a long moment. He could just...he doesn't know. This would be easier if it was one of the days where he's just wandering looking for people to assist. He has a few appointments to keep with some of the Curia Regis, but that's pretty much it.

"I'm not certain where to send you." Thor admits. "Would you care to accompany me through some rather dull meetings?" Thor doesn't bother to hide his opinion of them in his tone, but nonetheless his team nods enthusiastically.

"Yes." Natasha assures, "We love boring meetings, right?"

Everyone gives their reassurance to her voice.

Thor stares at them, "Midgardians are so strange." He murmurs to himself, even though he  _knows_ that they're just doing this for his sake. The press conferences they had to sit through nearly drove all of them to tears, and the meetings at S.H.I.E.L.D. were not much better. None of them are good at sitting still for very long.

Thor nods and begins to move in the direction of the buildings, and the rest of his team follows.

000o000

They're well into the second meeting when Thor realizes why he hesitated on bringing them with him. Throughout the first one, his teammates were silent asking the occasional question and kicking each other under the table whenever the word "agriculture" was brought up. Thor has no idea why, only that it was.

On the second one, Thor is starting to lose patience with the main speaker (a Aesier woman by the name of Terma) and the topic she's speaking on is not feeling his chest with bubbles of glee. She's ranting about how much they lost in Ragnarok and comparing  _his_ reign with Odin's and the noticeable differences.

Thor knew that he wasn't a good king, but he's never had a  _chart_ to compare it with before.

His fingers tighten around each other where their resting on the tabletop, but he forces his gaze to remain forward despite his desire to flee. It's when Terma has begun a new subject in her compare and contrast that Clint perks up: "Question," he interrupts, Terma flicks her gaze to him, annoyed. "Yeah, sorry, um, what exactly is the point of this?"

Terma gapes for a second, then flicks her gaze to her husband, Lord Arkenson. "Well. We're showing what effect moving to Midgard has had on our people."

Clint's eyebrow lifts slightly, "And you can't do it a little more positive?"

Thor gapes at him openly.

"Excuse me?" Terma demands.

"Yeah," Tony agrees, rubbing at the back of his neck, "I agree with Legolas. I've yet to hear one good thing that came from moving here."

"It is because there  _are_ so little." Terma hisses.

Yes.

And whose fault is it that they're  _here?_

"I can think of a few." Bruce pipes up.

"I'm not certain what customs are with you barbarians anymore—" Tony, Bruce, and Steve make slight noises, "—but throwing your opinion into an argument such as this is considered rude with our people."

Clint makes a face. "Yes. Alright. Sorry, proceed."

Terma does. And she drags, purposefully, Thor is aware, but he isn't sure if his friends are. When they finally escape the meeting houses, it's well into nineteen hundred hours and they each look ready to strangle something.

"I can't believe that you deal with that every day." Natasha says, shaking her head with annoyance. Thor can't either, admittedly.

Steve nods seriously. "They're very…" he trails, clearly at loss for words.

"Firm?" Clint offers as Bruce suggests: "loud?"

Thor shrugs, "Either would be acceptable."

"I am starving." Tony declares, "Do you have anywhere to buy food around here?"

Thor nods, quietly huffing with amusement. "Yes."

"Where?" Bruce presses.

Thor drags them to a restaurant-like area, having food in somewhere that isn't your own home is very uncommon in Asgard, but for celebrations it isn't as strange. The six of them shuffle into the building and though the Asgardian's look at him surprised for a second, they take Tony seriously when he says, "one of everything".

They sit at one of the tables, bickering until the Asgardian's in charge (Thor can't remember their names) brings them plates of food. The Avengers dive in, looking as though they haven't seen food in years, but Thor stares at the plate in front of him with growing disgust and horror.

But why  _should_ he be?

He doesn't have to be strong in front of his team.

He's not king with them.

He's Thor.

So why can't he  _eat_ this?

Something is wrong. This isn't the way it's supposed to go. He only does what he  _does_ with the food so he can be strong for his people. He hates the heavy feeling that rouses from eating and knowing that he could have spent time doing something else for his people and—

_What is wrong with him?_

" _What is it that you're trying to accomplish!?"_ Loki's voice echoes in his head, and Thor realizes with a slight jolt that  _he doesn't know_ anymore.

Natasha, seated beside him, nudges his elbow, "You should eat." She presses, "You look like you need it."

The borborygmi of his stomach agrees.

He doesn't know if he  _can._

"Seriously, this is amazing." Bruce insists.

It wouldn't matter if it was the most disgusting thing on the planet, Thor doesn't  _want_ it.

Natasha's still watching him, that quizzical expression on her face.

_Stop staring._

Thor grabs the fork and harshly before they can continue to bug him, then picks at the food shoving a bite into his mouth. He hasn't eaten anything sense half a slice of burned toast this morning and the explosion of flavor across his tongue is miraculous.

His stomach happily receives the offering.

His mind cries out in retaliation.  _What is he doing!? He shouldn't be eating this now!_

He's starving, he's dizzy beyond belief and all he wants to do is sleep and make the aching hollow go away. But he can't. He  _shouldn't._

From a mercy from the Norns, or something else, the Avenger's don't comment on his blanching. Instead, they continue on with their conversation about the food and comparing it with Earth food in great detail. The usual shuffle of meals (stealing from plates and dumping food onto others to make them try it) proceeds like there hasn't been years between such actions. Thor joins as best he can and shoves down as much of the food as he can manage as he does so, focusing on anything but the taste.

It's not until much later, when they're preparing to leave that Thor realizes he picked the plate clean.

Horror wraps around him, and refuses to release.

Thor forces down his immediate urge to vomit and turns to his friends. The sun has set and it is well into the night. "Should I request for accommodations for sleeping to be prepared?" He asks, "It's late."

Tony shakes his head, "No, we took a Quintjet, we'll be back to the States in a few hours."

"Are you certain?" Thor presses.

Steve laughs, "We'll be fine, Thor. It was good to see you."

Yes. It was.

Thor walks them back to their jet and after a round of fist-pumps and hugs his team departs leaving him in the woods, quelling a panic attack. The hour is late and there is no one else who has need of him, so he treks back towards his and Loki's house.

Thor scarcely makes it ten steps into the building before his stomach rebels and he breaks for the bathroom. He lands on his knees in front of the toilet and expels the contents of his dinner. Again. And Again. And again. When he's reduced to dry heaves and hissed moaning, he becomes aware of another presence in the room.

He flicks his gaze to the right, where Loki is standing in the doorway, dressed for outside so he must have just returned and heard Thor vomiting. What a welcome home.

Loki moves forward and kneels down next to him, "You were sick."

No kidding.

"Yes." Thor grits between his teeth and sighs, shifting back so he can rest his back against the far wall. Loki moves beside him. Thor runs a hand across his face and closes his eye. "Something is wrong." He admits softly, "And I don't know how to fix it."

Loki is quiet, but Thor knows he's listening.

"I just wanted control," Thor whispers, "just control for  _something._ I need it. I can't handle being king, I'm not our father—and I know this. I just want to be someone as great as he was, but I don't know how. I'm exhausted, Loki."

More than in a way sleep can fix.

Deeper than the way his muscles ache for rest.

An exhaustion resting on his chest that nothing can fill.

"It's more than just sleep—the nightmares I can't juggle anyway, but I just...I don't know. It's beyond me now, and I don't know how to stop. It was supposed to make me stronger, but it's not. No one prepared me for being king, not really. Father expected to be there for the first years of my reign, but he isn't and I have no idea what I'm doing. What am I supposed to do? I can't handle the calling of my life without resorting to  _this."_ Thor waves a hand in the toilets direction with disgust.

He's quiet for a long minute, trying to gather his thoughts into one piece instead of the mess it's currently running around as.

"I want it to stop. I need everything to stop." Thor admits in a whisper. No more kingship, no more running around and worrying about image, no more failing his sibling, no more letting his father down, just  _rest._

Loki's lips thin slightly, but the expression on his face isn't horror or disgust, it's  _understanding._ "Thor," he starts softly, "I'm not giving up on you. What can I do? What do you  _want_ me to do?"

If he knew, he would have already said so.

Thor shakes his head. "I don't know." He admits.

Loki nods, "Alright," he agrees, "we'll figure this out together. I promise. For now, let's just start with getting you to bed." Thor makes a noise of agreement. Loki gets to his feet and assists Thor to his, the two of them moving back towards his bedroom. Loki opens the door and Thor pulls off his boots and jacket tossing them towards the desk and collapses on the mattress.

Sleep sounds amazing.

He shuffles underneath the blankets and looks towards Loki. His younger brother waves a hand to turn off the bathroom light down the hall, as well as the hall light. The room is bathed in darkness. Loki shifts forward and rests a hand on his shoulder, "Do you mind if I stay here tonight?"

No.

He doesn't.

The thought fills him with more relief than he cares to admit.

"No." He starts to move, but Loki's hand stops him. Thor looks up towards his sibling, confused, but is answered a moment later as he feels the warm fur of a cat curl up next to his side. Thor releases a breath and curls around his sibling, squeezing his eye shut.

When he slips into sleep a few minutes later, it's completely dreamless.

000o000

Things look up from there. Having someone else who  _knows_ helps in more ways than he can really admit. Loki forces him to eat breakfast the next morning, but when asked for other meals and Thor says no, Loki doesn't push.

The day goes on.

There's no magical banner in the sky proclaiming what happened over the last day, but Thor feels it all the same. And it's  _better._ Not at once, but it  _is._

He and Loki work out a messy understanding of the disorder with trial and error (more errors than either care to admit) over the next several weeks and Thor manages to gain some weight and even eat breakfast with Loki.

He wants to throw it up later, but he got it  _down_ and he claims it a success.

Brunnhilde puts two and two together one afternoon when Loki is attempting to pester a sandwich down Thor's throat and he's not being cooperative, offers him a listening ear and Loki assistance with his endeavors.

Thor is more irritated than he cares to admit at first, but gradually he adjusts.

Having Loki and Brunnhilde there help and it helps  _immensely._ It doesn't make it better, and there are still days where the stress makes him want to tear out his hair, but he doesn't proclaim it the end.

He moves on.

He keeps going.

And four months after the night on the bathroom floor when he and Loki are working in the kitchen late one night his sibling looks up at him, "Do you want dinner?"

Thor blinks out of his science revere and feels hunger pangs and nods, "Yeah," he agrees, with slight surprise when the thought doesn't horrify him. Instead, he proudly proclaims to the younger: "I could eat."


End file.
